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^ siy TO 27 VANDEW>MEf\ {iT 




le Seaside Library 


Pocket Edition, Ispiied Tri-weekly. By subscription pO per annum. 




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Uiiitctl C/Siiiada and 


MUNHO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


The Heiress of Hilldrop; 

OR. 

THE ROMANCE OF A YOUNG GIRL. 

By GHABLOTTE M. BRAEME, 

Author of “ Dora Thorne." 

Complete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 741. 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 

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SEiSIDB LMiEI (POCKET EDITION), NO. III. 

A CARDINAL SIN. 

A NOVEL. 

BY HUGH CONWAY, 

Author of “ Called Back.” 

PRINTED IN LARGE, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE. 


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BEATON’S BARGAIN 


By MRS. ALEXANDER. 




/ 


/ 


\ V t \ 

II 



NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 
17 TO 37 Vandbwater Steebt. 


MES. ALEXANDER'S WORKS 


CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION); 

NO. PRICK. 

5 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

17 The Wooing O’t 20 

162 The Executor 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate 10 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 10 

286 'Which Shall it Be? 20 

889 ]\[rs. Vereker’s Courier JMaid 10 

490 A Second Life 20 

564 At Bay 10 

794 Beaton’s Bargain 30 


BEATON’S BARGAIN 


CHAPTER 1. 

“ SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT. " 

The play was nearly over. 

The house, crowded by a brilliant audience, resounded 
with frequent applause. Irving and Miss Terry had been 
at their best in ‘‘ Much Ado about Nothing. 

“ She is certainly charming, said a slight elegant 
woman, with large dark eyes and an exquisitely becoming 
toilet, who sat facing the stage in a private box. “ How 
very delightful it must be to make a lot of money by being 
fascinating and wearing lovely dresses 

I fancy there was a background of grinding and wait- 
ing before Miss Terry could produce this highly finished, 
higlily paid performance,^^ retmmed a gentleman, who was 
leaning on the back of a chair, a tall, thin, distinguished- 
looking man, with thick sandy mustaches, and hair a shade 
darker, straight handsome features, and light smiling eyes. 
“ All intense pleasure must be costly; but then one does 
not count the cost. 

“ You do not, I^m sure!^^ she replied, looking up to him 
with a smile. 

Perhaps not; but the cost discounts 
How horrid realities are! Give me my cloak. Jean, 
let us wrap up and be ready. What is she looking at, Mr. 
Beaton?’^ 

The lady she addressed had been for more than a minute 


6 


beatok's bargain. 

f 

gazing through her opera-glass at some person or persons 
in the undress circle opposite, and no\r, turning to Beaton, 
she handed the glass to him. 

‘‘ I wish,^^ she said, you would look at that man who 
is leaning against the pillar behind a huge woman in a 
green bonnet. I really believe it is Jack Maitland. 

I dare say it is. He is in town, I know,^^ taking the 
glass and looking as she directed. Yes,^^ he said, it is 
Maitland; you have a good memory, Jean.'’^ 

‘‘ Oh, Mrs. Winington has no end of a memory, said 
a stout, short young man, ruddy and fair-haired, who had 
not spoken before. 

It is a long time since I saw Jack Maitland, and he is 
a good deal changed. Why did you not bring him to see 
me?^^ 

I never thought of it,^^ said Beaton. 

Well, find him out now, like a good boy, and bring 
him to supper. 

“ Oh, we will meet him going out.^^ 

''No, no; make sure of him; you have seen all this a 
dozen times. Go now!^^ 

Beaton raised his eyebrows, put on an air of submission, 
and left the box. 

" You have a very obedient brother, Jean,^^ said the first 
speaker. 

"Every one obeys Mrs. Winington, Lady Mary, re- 
marked the stout young man. 

" Except Colonel Winington, cried Lady Mary. 

" That of course, /promised to obey him,"" said Mrs. 
Winington, a smile parting her ripe red lips, and showing 
the white regular teeth within. She was on a larger scale 
than her friend, tall and stately, with a grandly rounded 
figure, snowy arms and throat, so far as a square corsage 
and elbow-sleeves permitted them to be seen, a richly pale 
complexion, with a tiny freckle or two where the sun had 
kissed her cheek too fondly, abundant real chestnut hair. 


BEATON^S BABGAIN. 7 

and soft warm brown eyes. She was a handsome likeness 
of her brother, Leslie Beaton, with more vitality. 

“ Hiish!’^ said Lady Mary, ‘‘you have no enthusiasm 
for the drama. 

“ Oome!^^ exclaimed Mrs. AVinington; “we know the 
rest. Let us get out before^ the crowd. Mr. Smythe, you 
can find the brougham, and Leslie must come on the best 
way he can; I do hope he will catch Jack Maitland.'^ 

Mr. Smythe was most active and energetic. He soon dis- 
covered Mrs. Winington^s tall footman. Between them, 
that lady^’s perfectly appointed brougham was quickly 
brought up, and the owner with her fair friend carefully 
handed in by the devoted Smythe. 

“ I shall be at home to-morrow; come and have a cup of 
tear at five o^clock. Good-night,^^ said Mrs. AVinington, 
as she drew up the window, and they rolled off. 

“ AVhat a shame not to ask the poor little fellow to sup- 
per said Lady Mary. “ He really earns his bread (his 
bread of life) very hardly. 

“Pooh!^^ returned Mrs. AA^inington; “four are com- 
pany, five an unpleasant solitude;^'’ and she nestled herself 
into her corner of the luxurious conveyance. “ Besides, I 
have given him his guerdon; tea with us is payment in full. 
I do not want him to-night. 

“ Oh, it is to be a double tete-a-tete f As you like. But 
who is this mysterious Jack Maitland, who shrouds himself 
in the obscurity of the upper boxes?’^ 

“ Jack Maitland, said Mrs. Winington, slowly, “ is the 
son of our factor, or what you English people would term 
‘ agent, ^ to my father ^s estate. He was my first — well, 
nearly my love. 

“Your first love! Then you could scarcely have been 
sliort- coated; and you remember him! This is interest- 
ing. 

“ I assure you he was very interesting, and so desperately 


8 


BEATO^JT’S BARaATN". 


in earnest. He was ready to brave the wrath of all the 
Beatons if I would only run away with him.^^ 

“ What! did he dare so much? and only the son of an 
employe !” 

Oh, the Maitlands are of a good old stock. His father 
and mine were brother officers. Jack is a gentleman by 
birth and breeding, only the proposition was so absurd. I 
answered it by marrying Colonel Winington.^^ 

“ A very wise solution. What a nuisance it is, Jean, 
that nice men never have any money 

Well, rarely.^" 

“ And where has your young hero been hiding himself 
“ I haven^t an idea. He was a medical student in Edin- 
burgh, but he broke away, and went to America or New 
Zealand or Timbuctoo; in short he was in disgrace with his 
father, with every one, so we quite lost sight of him.'’^ 
‘‘Ah! I suppose remorse for having ruined his life 
presses on your soul. ” 

Indeed it does not. Jack Maitland would have had to 
sow his wild oats whether he had known Jean Beaton or 
not; but he was a delightful boy, as I considered him, 
though he is two years older than I am.^^ 

‘‘ I feel curious to see this young Lochinvar,^^ said Lady 
Mary, yawning. “ What are we to have for supper? I 
begin to be hungry. ” 

I scarcely know. The usual sort of thing, I suppose. 

My dear, with your means you should aim at ^^^mom- 
mon things. Your good appetite, Jean, is a misfortune; 
it blunts the delicacy of your gastronomic perceptions. I 
like only extra nice things. 

A little more disjointed talk brought them to Mrs. Win- 
ington^s house in South Kensington. 

The double doors were thrown open by a watchful butler 
before the bell ceased to sound. Mrs. Winington and her 
guest crossed a square, carpeted hall, richly colored and 
fragrant with the flowers which decorated it, to a small ante 


HEATON’S HAKOAIN. 


9 


or morning-room, dimly lighted, where a wood-fire burned 
on a low hearth. An open door opposite showed the din- 
ing-room, where supper was laid. 

Really the fire is quite nice, though it is nearly the end 
of April,’ ’ said Lady Mary, throwing off her wraps. 

“ I find it too warm,” returned Mrs. Winington, taking 
a fanciful match-box from the mantel-piece, and lighting 
the candles in the girandoles at each side of the glass. She 
looked steadily at her own image for a minute, and then 
turned away with a slight smile. 

‘‘You think you’ll do?” asked Lady Mary, who had 
been watching her lazily. “ Is young Lochinvar to be 
immolated over again?” 

Mrs. Winington laughed, a pleasant joyous laugh. 

“ Certainly not; but I am glad my old admirer will not 
be able to say, ‘ Poor Jeanie is awfully gone off. ’ Six or 
seven years are something of a trial to the best complexion, 
added to late hours and a rapid rate of living. ” 

“ Too true!” cried Lady Mary earnestly. “ You make 
me shiver. Here am I, a destitute widow for more than 
two years, and I have only enjoyed, not improved the shin- 
ing hour. I really must find some good parti this season, 
or — ’ ’ 

“ I hear a cab or something stop,” interrupted Mrs. 
Winington quickly. “ Come, let us not seem to have 
waited for them.” 

But she had not yet taken her seat when “ Mr. Beaton,” 
“Mr. Maitland,” were announced, and she went forward 
to greet her early lover— a strikingly beautiful figure, clad 
in exceedingly ornamental and becoming mourning. 

“After long years!” she said, holding out her fair un- 
gloved hand, with a soft smile. “I am very glad to see 
you, Mr. Maitland. ” 

Jack Maitland was not so tall as her brother, but 
broader, and more largely built. He was dark, either 
naturally or from exposure, with nearly black hair, and 


10 


BEATOi^’S BARG AIN. 


deep gray steady eyes. His square jaw and well-cut mouth 
were undisguised by beard or mustache, and though at a 
disadvantage in his unstudied morning dress, there was a 
certain dignity of strength in his figure and movements 
which also gave him the air of being older than he really 
was. 

‘‘ You are very good to give me this pleasure,” replied 
Maitland, holding her hand for just a second, and looking 
observantly at her, while a bright answering smile lighted up 
his face and showed teeth white as her own. “ I was most 
agreeably surprised when Leslie brought me yom’ invita- 
tion. ” 

Which I could hardly persuade him to accept,^' said 
Beaton; “ some wretched scruple about being in morning 
dress, unworthy of a backwoodsman, made him hesitate. ” 

“Not for long,'^ said Maitland, taking the place beside 
his hostess to which she motioned him. 

“ I should never have forgiven you had you refused,” 
said Mrs. Winington. “ But I have neglected my duty. 
Let me introduce my old friend and playfellow to you. Lady 
Mary. “ Mr. Maitland, Lady Mary Hay.” 

“ Better and more distinctively known as Bonnie Mary 
Hay,” said Beaton. 

“Now (lid you think it necessary to say that?” asked 
Lady Mary, opening her big tragic eyes. “ Ho pray give 
me some mayonaise; it is commonplace, but nice. ” And 
the well-assorted party applied themselves to the good 
things provided. 

“ To auld lang syne,’’ said the hostess, with a merry 
glance at her right-hand neighbor, as she raised her glass to 
her lips. 

He bowed, drained his silently, and then asked, “ How is 
, Colonel Winington?” 

“ He is quite well, I hope. Perhaps you think I ought 
not to have a supper party without him? Pray remember 
it is a family aUair. I have my brother’s august protec- 


BEATON'S BARGAIN'. 


11 


tion. Lady Mary is Colonel Winington's cousin, and yoib " 
— turning her soft smiling eyes full upon his — “ almost be- 
long to us. " Maitland returned her glance with an ex- 
pression of irrepressible admiration, but did not speak. 
“ My husband," she continued, “is away at Claughton. 
He has a racing establishment there, and is always going to 
and fro; the turf is Ms world. I hope to introduce you to 
him on his return." 

“ Thank you. I shall not be much longer in town. " 

“ Oh, you must not run away at the first flush of the 
season; really London is very delightful for a short time." 

Then, with a few well put queries, she drew from him an 
outline of his life since they parted. Some years wander- 
ing unsuccessfully in Canada and South Africa, a few more 
of better promise on a New Zealand farm, then a summons 
from his father, whose increasing years made lieljD in the 
varied duties of the factorship very needful. “ And of 
course since the laird — " He paused in his speech. 

“ Yes," put in Mrs. Winington softly, with an air of in- 
terest; “ since my poor father died?" 

‘ ‘ There has been more to do than ever, the young laird 
being a minor. Now there is a railway bill for a line be- 
tween Strathkinness and Ardentinny which they are trying 
to pass, and I have been summoned to give evidence before 
the committee. I am afraid it will be a tedious affair. " 

“ It is unfortunate for Mr. Beaton that his elder brother 
was so foolish as to marry. But for this poor little two- 
year-old, you would be ‘ Beaton of Craigrothie,' and a good 
match," cried Lady Mary, laughing. 

“ Instead of being obliged to look out for a good match 
myself. If you promise me your ladyship's fair hand, I 
will post off to Scotland to-morrow, and poison the intru- 
sive imp," said Beaton. “ Maitlaiid there will not inform 
the police, for the sake of old friendship. Eh, Jack!" 

“ Oh, Mr. Beaton," exclaimed Lady Mary, “ I saw the 
very thing that would suit you in the ‘ Times ' this morn- 


12 


BE ATONES BARGAT^r. 


iiig. I told you at the time, Jean. Oh, where is the 
paper? Eing the bell, Mr. Maitland, please.^' (The 
servants by this time had retired.) It was in yesterday s 
paper, too, but I did not think about it seriously till to- 
day. I am quite in earnest. Pray bring me this day^s 
‘ Times;^ I left it in the library. T do hope it is not sent 
away.^^ (This to the servant.) I only want the adver- 
tisement sheet. 

What may this wonderful find be?^^ exclaimed Beaton. 

‘‘What may retrieve your fortunes,’^ said Lady Mary 
solemnly. 

“ They never wanted retrieving more. Haste! oh, 
haste, most admirable Miller, with the means of my salva- 
tion!^^ 

The stately butler re-entered as he spoke, and handed the 
“ Times to Lady Mary. 

“ It is a tremendous effort to hunt up anything in these 
endless columns,^' she exclaimed, stretching out the wide 
sheet. “ Do hold this side, Mr. Beaton, it is for your sake 
I am incurring the fatigue. Oh, here, here it is, in the 
agony column. ‘ The friends of a young lady of considera- 
ble fortune, who have few social opportunities, would be 
glad to communicate with a gentleman of character and 
position with a view to matrimonial alliance. Fullest in- 
formation given and expected. Strictest secrecy observed. 
Address by letter only to A. X. Z., Box 24, P. 0. Lom- 
bard Street. 

“ By Mammon! this is a chance. Lombard Street 
smacks of gold,^^ cried Beaton, taking the paper. “ But 
if the young lady has the needful, why this necessity of 
hunting for a husband 

“ They must be very extraordinary ])eople to confess to 
liaving few social advantages. T wonder is she a lunatic?’'’ 
said Mrs. Winiugton. 

“ Box 24 will be tolerably crammed full by to-morrow, 
said Maitland, laughing. 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


13 


‘‘ They are not ‘ suited ^ yet,” observed Lady Mary 
gravely, or the advertisement would not be out again. ” 

I wonder if there really is a good fortune behind this 
queer announcement, because I am really hard up. I was 
just able to clear myself when the poor old laird died, and 
now I feel quite poverty-stricken and cold without my 
debts. Besides, the children of Israel are rather hard- 
fisted to the fatherless, when they realize there is no longer 
a paternal purse to pull at. I give you my word I feel as 
destitute as — ” 

As I am,” put in Lady Mary. '‘lam sure if any 
young or old gentleman of considerable fortune was so 
deprived of social advantages as to feel obliged to advertise 
for a wife, I should answer and find out if the game were 
worth the candle. 

"lam sure you would do nothing of the kind,” said 
Beaton, with a peculiar expression, half admiring, half re- 
proachful. " You know you are the most difficult of 
women. Moreover, for the matrinwnial stakes a man can 
hedge his book as can not. However, I am grateful 
enough ior the trouble you have taken to follow your 
advice.-’^ He drew out a note-book and 23encil and took 
down the initials and address, observing, " I will write to- 
morrow. ” 

" Nonsense cried Mrs. Winington. " I will accept no 
sister-in-law out of the ' Times ^ agony column. 

" Suppose she has a hundred thousand recommenda- 
tions,^'’ said Maitland. 

"That would be irresistible; but a hundred thousand 
pounds do not go a-begging in the ‘ Times.'’ 

" Now, Lady Mary, if you have supped you must com- 
plete your friendly offices by assisting me to open negotia- 
tions in this veiy commercial transaction. You must help 
me to do myself justice, for I distrust my own descriptive 
powers. There are pens, ink, and paper in the next room. 


14 Beaton's bargain. 

and we will submit our joint production to a committee of 
the whole house." 

Very well; I will tone down the brilliancy of your 
coloring, and give an * air of reality to your inventions," 
said Lady Mary, rising, and leading the way into the ante- 
room. 

‘‘ Leslie is much the same as ever," said Mrs. Winington 
in a confidential tone to Maitland, as soon as they were left 
alone. ‘‘ Poor fellow, he has given us great trouble and 
anxiety. I am sure it is well for the family fortunes that 
Archie left a son. Leslie never knew the value of money. 
Do you remember he was always borrowing yours, when 
you were boys, and I fear rarely paid you back?" 

“ I imagine my loans were infinitesimal, and I am quite 
sure I got my cash returned, or T should have been penni- 
less. Yes, your brother is just the same pleasant fellow as 
ever. I wish he were a little more prudent." 

You were not always prudent yourself, tfack — I mean 
Mr. Maitland," returned Mrs. Winnington, looking full 
into his eyes for a moment, and then letting her own slowly 
droop. 

“ No," said Maitland, laughing, a pleasant unem- 
barrassed laugh. “ I was as great a fool as lads generally 
are, if not a greater fool. It is wonderful what enormous 
proportions one's early follies assume when seen by the light 
of maturer experience. " 

“ Ah! and you have grown quite, quite wise with 

some emphasis, her eyes still downcast, as she turned a 
heavy gold Indian bracelet round and round on her arm. 

Quite wise! I wish I could think so. A trifle surer and 
more deliberate." 

And so have I — ^grown 7nuch wiser, much more en- 
lightened in some directions," with a quick, deep sigh. 
“We ought to be good friends now that we have left our 
follies far beliind. Ought we not, Mr. Maitland?" 


BE ATONES HAR(4AIN'. 15 

Who M^ould be anything but your friend, Mrs. Win- 
mgton?’’ 

She looked up; their eyes met. Hers were inexpressibly 
imploring. His, quiet, searching, not unkindly, but she 
saw, she felt he was perfectly unmoved. She was no longer 
the Jean Beaton for whose kiss he would have risked his 
life, only Mrs. AVinington, a handsome, agreeable woman, 
with whom it was pleasant to while away an hour. She 
had rarely been so discomfited. Her brow darkened; she 
bent over the flowers that lay beside her plate, to hide the 
change she felt transforming her face. 

“ Tell me,^^ she resumed, recovering herself, “ how long 
is it since you have returned?^' 

“ About a year. 

“But you will not always bury yourself alive in the wilds 
of Oraigrothie.^^ 

“ Why not? I have no particular ambition. Having 
no special profession, I must do what I can, and to manage 
a large estate, develop its resources, and improve the tenant- 
ry, is no bad occupation for a man^s life. My father is 
very much broken, and eventually I don't think the guard- 
ians or trustees will appoint any one in my place. " 

“ They would be very foolish if they did. And you are 
content to live and die at Craigrothie?" 

‘ ‘ At present, yes. Home is very pleasant after wander- 
ing about for years. " 

“ You are too young to feel that. Perhaps some bonnie 
lassie with golden locks is the real attraction to the old 
place; perhaps you are going to follow my good example, 
and take a partner for life." 

Jack Maitland smiled a somewhat grim smile. 

“lam by no means inclined to matrimony," he said. 
“ AVhen I am older and more talkative and stay-at-home, I 
may look out for a good housewife to make my dechning 
years comfortable, but for the present no!" There was a 
world of imperative rejection in his “ no." 


16 


BEATOif^S BARGAIK. 


You are a good deal changed/" said Mrs. Winington, 
softly, almost timidly. 

‘‘I see a change in you too,"" he returned, looking at 
her steadily, as a man might contemplate a picture; '' but 
you are even handsomer, I should say lovelier than you 
used to be."" A certain familiarity had come into his tone 
as he talked, and Mrs. Winington, as she met his eyes, felt 
that it would not be easy to pierce the panoply of his in- 
ditference. 

“ I fear you are hard and unforgiving,"" she murmured. 

‘‘You wrong me, I have no right to be either."" Then, 
with the bright frank smile which lit up his face so 
pleasantly, “ I assure you, I have grown a very easy-going, 
unheroic fellow since time and social friction have worn 
down my rough edges."" 

“You used not to be rough. Jack; you were very, very 
gentle to me at least. "" 

“ Very good of you to say so. I fancy I was something 
of a boor, or would have been, if I had not known you. "" 

“ I wish I could believe I had ever done you any good. 
Jack. "" 

“ Yes, you did; you taught me a great deal,"" laughing. 

“ Well,"" resumed Mrs. Winington, after a short 
pause, “ you must come and dine with us. I want to in- 
troduce you to Colonel Winington. You know he is one 
of my father’s executors; it would be well if you became 
friends. How long shall you be in town?"" 

“It is impossible to say. I may be called before the 
committee to-morrow. I may be kept kicking my heels 
here for a couple of weeks, or a month. "" 

“ Here,"" cried Lady Mary, coming in with a sheet of 
paper in her hand, “ here is a magnificent composition. 
Pray listen."" She seated herself at the table, while Beaton, 
who followed, leaned on the back of her chair. 

“ Having seen A. X. Z. "s advertisement, I beg to offer 
myself as a candidate for the matrimonial alliance proposed. 


Beaton’s nAROAiN. 


17 


I am a man of good family, assured social position, and 
attractive appearance. I attained my thirty-first year on 
the eighteenth of February last. My character will hear 
the strictest investigation, and my references are unexcep- 
tionable. My fortune is, I regret to say, nil, but, wonderful 
to relate, I am free from debt. If A. X. Z. will consent to 
a private interview, I shall be happy to satisfy him on all 
points, and make any arrangement calculated to give satis- 
faction. Nature has endowed me with a warm heart and 
an affectionate disposition, which are entirely at the com- 
mand of the lady who will be so good as to share her fort- 
une with yours, etc., etc. 

“Jock o’ Hazledean.” 

“ First-rate! bravo!” cried Mrs. Winington, clapping 
her hands. 

“ Enough to lure the birds from the trees,” said Mait- 
land. 

“You never could have done it yourself,” observed Lady 
Mary. 

“ Never,” returned Beaton, emphatically. “ Give me 
the precious paper which shall be my passport to fortune. ” 


OHAPTEE 11. 

“ ON VIEW. ” 

Ten days had gone by rapidly, and Jack Maitland, in 
the press of business and amusement, was hardly aware that 
so much time had elapsed. He had contented himself by 
leaving a card on Mrs. Winington at the hour she was 
most likely to be out. He was interested and amused by 
his rencounter with her, and quite able to admire her 
beauty without being much disturbed by it. 

This fine sunny morning he was busy writing letters in 
his room, before going out for the day, and had laid down 
his pen before answering an invitation to dinner from 
Colonel and Mrs. Winington for the following Tuesday. 


18 


BEATON S BARGAIN. 


I must accept, I suppose,^ ^ he said to himself. “I 
have refused a musical evening, and a party to Kichmond. 
I should like to see Jean^s husband. It is a droll idea to 
meet him, and to meet him too without any deadly inten- 
tions. Come in,'^ interrupting himself as some one 
knocked at the door. 

“ A gentleman wants to know if you will see him, sir,^^ 
said a waiter, presenting him with a card, on which was 
printed Leslie Beaton.’’^ 

‘‘ Yes; show him up,” and in a few minutes Beaton 
walked in. 

“ I was just thinking of looking you up,” cried Maitland, 
shaking hands with him. “ I have not seen anything of you 
since we supped together at Mrs. Winington^s. I thought 
you would have come with me to hear Gladstone's answer 
to—” 

My dear fellow, I have been otherwise occupied,” in- 
terrupted Beaton, with some solemnity, as he drew a chair 
opposite his friend. - 

Maitland looked at him, half amused at the mingled ex- 
pression of triumph and uneasiness in his eyes. 

I have been very seriously occupied,” repeated Beaton. 

‘‘ What have you been about?” 

I have been securing a wife. I have been finding the 
means of existence. ” 

“ What do you mean?” 

“ You remember that advertisement?” 

‘‘Yes.” 

“ Well, I answered it. Not the answer I concocted with 
Lady Mary. My proposal was entertained. I interviewed 
first the acting guardian, a snuffy, shabby, shrewd old ras- 
cal, who has been making rigid inquiries respecting me and 
my statements. I suppose the result has been so far satis- 
factory, that guardian number two received me yesterday, 
and we got on very well. He is a pompous old buffer, but 


Beaton's bargain. 


19 


a gentleman, and it is agreed I am to be introduced to the 
young lady to-morrow." 

“ But you are not in earnest? You would not select a 
wife in this fashion?" 

‘‘ Why not? What is worse in it than being introduced 
by — say my sister — to an heiress with a view to matrimony? 
It is the same sort of operatio}i more openly and satisfac- 
torily conducted. I too have been looking into matters, 
and it is a hona-’fide ready-money afPair. In short, I am in- 
clined to think my luck has turned. " 

“ And the young lady?" 

Beaton made a grimace. I haven't seen her yet, and 
I can only hope she is not too utterly utter. If she is, why 
I'll cry off. But, Jack, she has close on five thousand a year. 
That will cover a multitude of defects.^ Then there are 
many compensations even for the most devoted husband, 
and I intend to be a model. She shall spend a fair share 
of her own money as she likes, while I shall amuse myself 
my own way — in moderation. " 

‘‘You are old enough to take care of yourself," .said 
Maitland, proceeding to stamp the letters he had addressed. 
“ I confess I feel most for the girl. I suppose she knows 
nothing about this precious scheme?" 

“ Hasn't the faintest suspicion. My dear fellow, she will 
be enchanted with me, if I choose; I always get on with 
women, and Miss Vivian (her name is Vivian) has been se- 
cluded all her seventeen or eighteen years. Her father was 
an enthusiastic naturalist, and had what he considered 
enough to live on (he was evidently a man of limited ideas), 
so he brought up this girl in the most naturalistic manner 
possible. I fancy the mother died years ago. Since the 
father's death my future spouse has lived in the paternal 
cottage, under the care of the snuffy guardian's sister, and 
I presume her manners are not of the highest tone. Quite 
lately she inherited a lot of money from an uncle who had 
not been on good terms with her father for years, but who 


20 


BEATON^S BAEGAIN'. 


died intestate. I have got AVinington^s solicitor to look 
into the matter, and he too says it is a hona-ilde concern. 

There was a moment’s silence. 

‘‘ Why don’t you congratulate me, Jack?” 

“ Perhaps I may later on; at present — well, I don’t like 
the scheme; but I suppose I take things too seriously. I 
dare say a marriage of this kind is no worse than a large 
proportion of those which occur every day. ” 

“ On the contrary, it is a deuced deal better, less nonsense 
and more reality; you are quite too desperately in earnest — 
always were, so Jean says. By the way, she is quite taken 
up with my plan. AVill you come with me and support me 
in this crisis of my fate?” 

‘‘Where?” 

“ At the Royal Academy to-morrow, one-thirty — to meet 
the object of my adoration. It’s a beastly hour, but that’s 
what old Tilly fixed. Tilly is the superior guardian, and 
is to introduce me as a ‘ young friend ’ to his ward and her 
chaperon. Really it will be rather fun for you to see the 
meeting. ” 

“ I Avill come,” said Maitland, slowly. “ Where shall I 
find you?” 

“ Oh, pick me up at the club. Come and have a glass 
of sherry and a biscuit to keep up our spirits. You know, 
if the thing can be managed it will be a great chance for 
me, I am pretty well at the end of everything. Indeed, I 
must raise funds to cany out this scheme. I don’t think 
oven Winington Avill advance me a rap. JIo you happen to 
have a few himdreds, Maitland, you would like to lend at 
high interest?” 

Certainly not,” with a grim smile; “I like you too 
much, old fellow, to have any money transactions with 
you. ” 

“ Niggard!” cried Beaton, in mock heroic tones. “ Well, 

I must try my old friends the Jews. In short, the only 
chance left me is this marriage. If it fails — but it must 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN-. 


i 




not fail. Now I have to escort Lady Mary to a garden * 
party at Twickenliam, so good-bye till to-morrow. Mind 
you don^t fail me. Yoii^ll make a respectable sort of 
sponsor. With a nod he left the room. 

Maitland looked after his old play-fellow with something 
of uneasiness and disapprobation, as he thought, “He is 
not to be trusted, I fear; none of them ever were except 
the old laird. I must see what the victim is like; probably 
she is an ordinary woman to whom a good name and a 
higher social position than her own may be all-sufficing. 

^ 4s % * :{c ♦ 

The fateful morrow was dull and heavy; but Maitland 
found Beaton in high, almost too liigh spirits, and faultless 
dress, with dainty gloves, and a delicate sprig of gardenia 
and maiden-hair fern in his button-hole — “ quite a bride* 
groom elect, as Maitland told him. 

After a second glass of sherry Beaton declared liimsel ? 
ready, and they set out on their important quest. 

Although it was luncheon-time the rooms at Burlington* 
House were full, and Maitland looked eagerly round, ^eek * 
ing some figure that might answer to the idea he had 
formed of Beaton ^s intended bride. 

There were a variety of visitors, evidently provincial, over 
whom Maitland ^s eyes rolled unsatisfied till they were ai - 
rested by a group which stood before one of the gems of the 
exhibition — a large picture representing a wide breezy up- 
land covered with gorse and heather, some sheep feeding 
in the foreground, and gathering rain-clouds behind. A 
white-haired neat old gentleman, with a high black satin 
cravat, was speaking to an elderly woman, who might have 
been head-nurse or a highly respectable cook and house* 
keeper in a country family. She wore a closely tied black 
satin bonnet, and a large shawl of the kind known as Paisley 
hung in a point from her shoulders to the end of her black 
skirt, while the hand with which she pointed to a hug^i 
bunting scene hanging high above theii* heads was encaserl 


22 


BEATON^S BAKGAIIT. 


in stout brown kid-gloves with long empty finger-ends. A 
step or two in advance stood a slight young girl, whose 
gown of fawn-colored alpaca was somewhat short and scant; 
she wore a round cape of black cashmere, its long ends 
crossed and fastened behind, and a broad-brimmed straw hat 
adorned with a bow of white ribbon and a large bunch of 
very stiff forget-me-nots; her feet, clad in white stockings, 
were planted in stout square-toed serviceable shoes tied on 
the instep, and had no heels worth mentioning; the whole 
costume bore the stamp of village millinery. A quaint 
little bourgeois figure, yet Maitland^’s attention was riveted 
to it. AVhile he looked 33eaton touched him on the shoul- 
der, and exclaimed in a deejj whisper — 

“ Great heavens, there she is!"’^ 

Maitland smiled at the dismayed expression of his face. 

How do you know?^^ he asked. 

‘‘ Because that is old Tilly the guardian with her; doiiT 
you see him looking round for the other victim 

“ He sees you,^^ said Maitland. 

Beaton, raising his hat, started forward with a frank 
pleasant smile to meet the anxious-looking old gentleman 
who was beckoning him. 

“You are a little behind time, are you not, sir?'’^ said 
Mr. Tilly, in a low tone; “ at least it seems a considerable 
time since we came into this bewildering place. 

“ I flattered myself I was rather punctual,"' said Beaton. 
“ AVill you allow me to introduce an old friend of mine, 
Mr. Maitland. I thought it might be as well to make some 
of my people known to you. " 

“ Ceriainly, certainly," bowing with old-fashioned polite- 
ness; “ very happy to know any friend of yours, I am sure. 
Now— now I will present you. It is really a curious and 
somewhat daring experiment, but with a man of honor— a 

I have no doubt all will go well. Of course I must as- 
sume to know you — to have known you, I mean. My young 


Beaton’s bargain. 


23 


ward is quite taken up with the pictures. A — a — Edith, 
my dear, touching her arm. 

She turned quickly, and looked full at him with a startled 
expression, as if suddenly recalled from another world, 
showing under her large hat a simple, pale, gentle face, the 
nose a little upturned, the mouth scarcely small enough for 
beauty, the eyes well set and darkly fringed, but of no par- 
ticular color, the hair soft, light brown, and smooth — an 
ordinary httle face enough, but pleasant, and not without 
a certain attraction. 

“ Edith, my friend Mr. Beaton wishes to know you. 
Mr. Beaton, Miss Vivian. Mr. Maitland, Miss Vivian. 

She looked at them steadily, a slight color stealing up in 
her cheek, as she made a small, very small courtesy, quaint 
but not ungraceful, without any attempt to speak. She 
was turning again to the pictures when Beaton with what 
Maitland perceived to be an effort, asked, “ Is this your 
first visit to the academy?’’ 

“Yes, I never saw any pictures before, except two or 
three at home. ” 

“ There are quite too many here for comfort, you will be 
awfully tired before you leave. ” 

“ I feel a httle giddy when I look round certainly, but I 
should like to stay on and on till I saw every one.” 

“You must come constantly, taking a rest between your 
visits, ” said Maitland, who was determined to make ac- 
quaintance with the poor little heiress. 

“I should like it, but it would cost such a number of 
shillings. Mrs. Miles would have to come too, you know.” 

“ Still I think Mr. Tilly would not object,” said Beaton, 
looking down at her with a caressing smile. “ I rather 
imagine he would find it difficult to refuse you.'' 

“ Mr. Tilly, yes, he is very kind, but Mr. Dargan is 
always unhappy about money,” she returned, quite uncon- 
scious of the implied compliment, and she looked again at 
the picture. ^ 


Beaton’s bargain. 


Beaton seemed checked, and turning, observed politely 
\o Mr. Tilly, ‘‘ Your friend looks very tired. I think I 
i ,an find her a seat. 

“I’m sure, sir, you are very polite, ” said the weary Mrs. 
M^iles gratefully, and Beaton escorted her to the long bench 
in the center of the room, where she sat down with a groan. 

“ This is a clever picture, said Maitland, who kept his 
place by Miss Vivian. 

“It is wonderful,^’ she said in a low tone, ‘as if absorbed 
in contemplation; her voice was naturally soft, and her 
accent fairly good. “ I never thought anything could be 
2 )ainted like it; there are some bits of moor-land near my 
home, and I have seen the clouds gather over them just 
1 ike those. I almost feel the cold breeze that generally 
( ernes up with the rain; and those distant blue hills, how 
lar away they look — ^that is what I can not do when I try 
to paint. I can not make the distance look fai’.^^ 

“ A few months’ study with a good master would help 
jou over that difficulty,'’^ said Maitland kindly, a feeling 
of compassionate interest drawing him to the speaker. 
“ Y^ou are an artist then?^^ 

“ I wish I were. Mr. Dargan has agreed to let me have 
lessons, and I shall work hard, so hard. 

“ Work hard!"^ echoed Beaton, returning to her side as 
she spoke. “ What a tremendous resolution! May I ask 
what is the object to be attained 

Miss Vivian colored slightly, and looked down as if she 
thought he was laughing at her. “ I want to learn draw- 
ing, she said simply. 

“ Then Mr. Tilly must find you a good master. Has he 
any idea whom to employ 

“ Oh, I suppose so.” 

“ It is very important to find the right man,'*' said Bea- 
ton gravely. “ AVhat master do you think of, Mr. Tilly, 
for Miss Vivian 

“I really have not an idea on the subject,''’ replied Tilly 


P.-RATOI^^S BAKOATK. 




nervously. ‘‘I never had anything to do with art or 
artists. No doubt Mr. Dargan, who is almost universally 
informed, will be able to supply our needs. 

“I don^t fancy art is much in his line either,^’ said 
Beaton, with an air of careless superiority. “ Now I know 
one or two good men, and shall be most happy if I can be 
of use to Miss Vivian. 

It would be doing me a great service,^’ cried Mr. Tilly, 
with a look of relief. “ I have been a good deal troubled 
how to gratify this whim of my ward^s. 

“ You must not call it a whim,^^ said’ Beaton, smiling, 
and looking down at Miss Vivian as if they understood each 
other. ‘‘It is a laudable ambition, and a charming taste. 
Will you allow me to see some of your drawings?^-’ 

“ Yes; then, if you understand about art, you can tell 
me if I am worth teaching,^’ she returned, with quiet 
earnestness. 

They moved on to look at the other paintings, and Mait - 
land noticed that the little countrified girl was always at - 
tracted by landscapes and animals, and, moreover, showe' I 
a wonderful amount of discrimination in her observa- 
tions. 

He remarked that she did not seem to care for human 
figures and faces. “ I suppose it is because I have seen 
more of the country and four-footed creatures than I have 
of people,^" she retiuned. “ It seems to me that I under- 
stand them better. I)o you draw?^'’ she asked with some 
timidity, looking straight into his eyes as she spoke. “ You 
feel the pictures more than he does, and she looked toward 
Beaton with a little nod. 

“ He must know more than I do about art; I do not 
draw, I only ignorantly worship, returned Maitland. 

“ I am sorry. Something in her voice suggested that 
she would prefer being assisted by him than by his friend. 

“ You will find no lack of instructors, Miss Vivian.""' 


20 BEATON^S BABOATK. 

“ The difficulty will be to choose among the multitude/^ 
said Beaton. 

Well, my dear/’ said poor Mr. Tilly, who had looked 
frequently toward the door, with an expression of intense 
weariness, ‘‘ I suppose you have seen enough for one day, 
and I — I have an appointment, an appointment of some im- 
portance, a — ” 

‘‘You are very tired,” said his ward kindly, glancing at 
him. 

“ Why lose your time here then?” asked Beaton blandly. 
“We shall be delighted to take charge of Miss Vivian and 

Mrs. I did not catch the name, and see them safely en 

route home. ” 

“ If you would be so good,” said Mr. Tilly, hesitating^ 

“ I shall be most happy, so will Maitland.” 

“ I do not want to stay much longer,” said Miss Vivian, 
“ if I can come soon again. There is a great picture of a 
chariot-race in the next room; I should like to look at it, 
then I shall be quite ready to go.” 

“ Then / shall bid you good-morning, my dear, and 
good-bye for the present. I am going to the north for a few 
days. They have discovered a curious tomb in the wall of 
an old church near Thirlstane, and I want to have a look 
at it. Meantime, if you need advice or assistance — a — a — 
you have my excellent colleague Mr. Dargan at hand. Good- 
morning, Mr. Beaton; good-morning, Mr. Maitland,” and 
with a bov/ to Mrs. Miles, who was still nodding in the seat 
Beaton had found for her, the old gentleman walked away 
with much alacrity. 

“ Boor old boy! it is really too bad to drag him about. 
Don’t you think /might fill the place of guide, philosopher, 
and friend, and leave him at peace?” exclaimed Beaton, 
looking after him with ^ smile. 

“ Tliank you, you are very kind. If it would not be too 
much trouble I should be so glad to be shown some of the 
things I ought to see. Mrs. Miles and I feel very lost here. 


BEATON'S BAEGAIN. 27 

and we might almost as well go about blindfold as go about 
alone. " 

‘‘ Good. Then I shall devote myself to your service 
during the remainder of your stay. What shall we do to- 
morrow? Can we manage the Tower, the Monument, St. 
Paul's and Madame Tussaud?" 

‘‘ If you do. Miss Vivian must have forty-horse-power of 
sight-seeing and endurance," siad Maitland, laughing. 

I have seen the Tower and the wax- works," returned 
Miss Vivian gravely. I think Mrs. Miles must rest to- 
morrow; but could you take me to a school of art, or a 
drawing class? we might find out the cost, and go and tell 
Mr. Dargan after. Do you know Mr. Dargan too?" 

I have that honor," with an air of profound respect. 
Miss Vivian looked quickly and keenly at him. The best 
plan is to permit me to call on you to-morrow, at any hour 
you may appoint, and we can arrange our campaign. I 
shall in the meantime make some inquiries about studios, 
etc., etc." 

You are very good indeed; I feel so much obliged to 
you." The color came slowly, softly into her cheeks, and 
a very sweet smile parted her lips. ‘‘lam sure Mr. Tilly 
will be very pleased. " 

“ Mr. Tilly is a very dear friend of mine," said Beaton 
gravely. 

“ I suppose so. " 

“ Then you must give me your address," and Beaton 
took out his note-book. 

“ Thirteen Albert Street, Camden Town," said Mrs. 
Miles, who had scarcely spoken before, and who now joined 
them. Her accent was peculiarly fiat and her voice of the 
sing-song description, though her utterance was rapid. 

“ Camden Town!" repeated Beaton. “ Why did they 
banish you to so terrible a locality?" 

“ Dear, dear! is it that bad?" exclaimed Mrs. Miles, in 
much dismay. “ They're uncommon nice rooms, and dear 


BEATOK^S BARGAIl^’. 


:§8 

i^nough, I can tell you — five-and-twenty sliilliiigs a week, 
and half a crown for the kitchen fire. 

The place is perfectly respectable, I have nodoubt,^^ 
said Maitland, laughing. My friend Beaton is very 
fastidious; anything further west than Kensington or north 
than Portman Square appears a savage wilderness to him.-’^ 
DonT believe him; he is only a country lout himself. 
Miss Vivian. He has always lived in the wilds. 

Miss Vivian looked from one to the other with a puzzled 
air; then, as if wishmg to atone for what seemed to her the 
rudeness of Beaton^s speech, she said softly, with a kind 
look into Maitland ^s face, ‘‘ That is no matter; it has not 
made you wild or rude.^^ 

“You little know him!^^ said Beaton, in tragic tones. 

“ You are laughing. Do you always laugh?^^ she asked, 
uneasily. “ Come, Miley, let us go home. I think I know 
the omnibus we came in, and you are too tired to walk.^^ 

“ DonT think of it,^'’ said Beaton, as they moved toward 
the entrance; “ I will get you a cab.^^ 

“Not a cab; Mr. Dargan told us to avoid cabs, they 
oost so much money. I would rather spend it on drawing 
.lessons. 

“ Mr. Dargan is — let us say, overcautious.^^ 

“ He is a careful man, sir, and my brother, ^mt in Mrs. 
Miles. 

“ And most conscientious, I am sure,^'’ said Beaton, in a 
peculiar tone. “ Still you must let me insist on a cab, and 
I will settle with the driver. 

“ No, certainly not!'^ cried Miss Vivian, decidedly. “ I 
shall pay for it myself. 

“ I dare not contradict you. Then at what hour may I 
present myself to-morrow?” asked Beaton, with an air of 
profound deference. 

“ Oh, to-morrow? Well, any time after nine; they will 
not give us our breakfast till half past eight,” returned 
Miss Vivian. 


BEATON’S BAKGAIN. 


29 


Beaton gazed at her with so bewildered an expression that 
Maitland could not resist laughing. “ My friend here is 
not given to early rising/’ he said. ‘‘He has a terrible 
complaint wliich checks his natural energy — want of occu- 
pation.” 

“ That is very bad, very wearisome/’ she returned, 
gravely. “ Will you come to-morrow too?” she continued, 
looking at Maitland without a shade of hesitation or embar- 
rassment. 

“ I am sorry I can not have that pleasure; I have an en- 
gagement. ” 

“ What! at nme in the morning?” said Beaton. 

“ Not quite so early.” 

“Well, Miss Vivian, if I may come after luncheon, say 
about two-thirty, we will arrange some charming plans. ” 

“ Thank you; we shall have quite finished dinner by that 
time.” 

“ You may be sure I shall be punctual.” 

Here a hansom, which Beaton had hailed, drove iij). 

“ Dear, dear! I can not abide those things!” cried Mrs. 
Miles; “ you do see the horse’s head so plain. I am always 
frightened it is going to fall. ” 

“ They are much the best, I assure you; a worse danger 
lurks in the four-wheeler, believe me. All the worst and 
mo^ infectious diseases travel in them to the hospitals. ” 

“Think of that now! Isn’t it a shame? What’ll we 
do, missee, my dear?” 

“ Oh, let us take th^ansom; there is really no danger. ” 
She paused, and after a moment’s^esitation held out her 
hand, first to Beaton and then to Maitland, with no undig- 
nified simplicity. 

As the cab drove away Beaton passed his arm through 
Maitland’s, and they walked away down Piccadilly in 
silence for a few paces; then Beaton exclaimed with a 
groan, “ She is even worse than I expected. What a price 


30 


BEATON^S BAKGAIN. 


I shall have to pay for independence! What a figure! what 
a toilet! Could anything ever lick her into shape * 

‘‘ I don^t agree with you/^ returned Maitland; she is 
quaint, but far from commonj^lace. I believe if she were 
dressed up, like Lady Mary Hay or your sister, she might 
even look pretty/^ " 

“Like Lady Mary! Great heavens! what are you think- 
ing of? Did you see her white stockings and charity»school 
shoes ?’^ 

“ I did, and I also observed that the ankles so travestied 
were remarkably neat/^ 

Why, Jack, you are not going in for rivalship?^^ 

“You are quite safe so far as I am concerned, returned 
Maitland, dryly. “ But I doubt if your game will be as 
easy as you anticipate."’^ 

“ Easy! it is sure to be hard work in any case; and then 
this craze for art! I must get Jean to help me there. In 
fact, I shall never get through the affair without Jean^s 
help; but I can count on her; she wants to get me off her 
hands. 

“ Why, Beaton, with your interest and sharpness you 
ought to be able to make your own living without having 
to sell yourself. 

“ Make my own living! What a disgusting phrase! 
Keally, Jack, there is a stronger colonial flavor about you 
than I thought. However, I have not committed myself 
to anything. Old Dargan, the snuffy one, wants to make 
some final conditions J^f ore I open|the siege in form. By 
the way, are you to dine with the Winingtons on Thurs- 
day?^^ 

“lam.^^ 

“ Then pray tell Jean the enormous sacrifice I am going 
to make to a stern sense of duty."’^ 

“ What duty?^^ 

“ The duty of self -maintenance/^ 


BEATON’S BABGATN. 


ni 

I shall tell her my opinion if she asks it. Now I must 
leave you.” 

“ Won’t you come down to Hurlingham?. Jeanie will 
be there, and she told me to bring you.” 

“ Sorry I can’t, but I have an appointment with the man 
who wants the Oraigrothie moors this autumn; I am 
almost late already. ” 

“ Well, good-bye for the present. If you had any bowels 
of compassion you would not leave me to my sorrow.” 

“I feel sure you will not long need consolation,” said 
Maitland, smiling, as he nodded good-bye to his friend, and 
turned uj) Air Street on his way to Regent Circus. It is 
no affair of mine,” he mused. ‘‘ I have no business to in- 
terfere, but I can’t help feeling sorry for that poor child. 
She doesn’t look as if she could hold her own in the world 
Beaton will introduce her to. But women are kittle cattle; 
I can not take credit to myself for understanding them, 
though I have had a lesson or two.” 


CHAPTER III. 

“ GKEEK MEETS GKEEK.” 

Mbs. Winington’s beautiful drawing-rooms were 
redolent of the flowers with which they were profusely 
decorated, and shaded by sun-blinds to becoming dimness 
when she came down dressed for dinner, her white neck and 
arms gleaming through the fllmy black lace which affected 
to cover them; the coils of her rich auburn-red hair dotted 
with tiny diamond bees and butferlfies. 

She was ready in good time this especial Thursday, as she 
hoped for an opportunity of speaking to her brother before 
Colonel Winington appeared. 

“ Leslie is always late. I do hope he had my note,” she 
thought, as she sunk into a comfortable corner of the sofa 
in the inner room and sat for some moments in thought. 


32 


BEATOlSr^S BAKGATK. 


resting her cheek on her Imiuh softened expression lend- 
ing unusual beauty to her handsome face; then, rousing 
herself, she leaned forward to glance at the clock, and as 
she did so Mr. Beaton was announced. ‘‘ I was afraid you 
would not come in time,^^ she exclaimed. 

‘‘ What is it, Jean? Are you in a scrape?^’ 

‘‘ A scrape! MeV^ she returned, with a large note of in- 
terrogation. “ That is not likely to happen. No; I want 
to warn you against confiding this matrimonial venture of 
yours to Jack Maitland. I am half afraid you have done 
so already. 

“ Yes; of course I have. Did I not tell you I took him 
with me to witness my interview with my -fiancee, as I con- 
sider her?^^ 

‘‘ Then you are a greater fool than I took you for. Un- 
less he has changed. Jack is the sort of man who strains at 
gnats and does not swallow camels. He is quite capable of 
telling the girl, or making a row. 

“ And cutting me out himself, eh?^^ added Beaton, - 
laughing at liis sister's irritation. ‘‘ I think you do him 
injustice; he is not quite such an idiot. You don’t suppose 
he is still the credulous blockhead you bamboozled? I can 
tell you he is both tough and hard. ” 

“ Very likely," returned Mrs. Winington, a faint, 
almost tender smile passing over her lips. “ Still he would 
despise your method of finding a well-dowered wife. I 
hope you did not let him think I knew anything about it?” 

“ Of course I did. Wh]^ I backed myself up with your 
approbation. ” 

“Eeally, Leslie, you are too unprincipled. You can 
not even believe that other people have scruples. I am in- 
finitely annoyed. AVhat will Jack Maitland think of me?" 

“ He won’t think about you; and what the deuce would 
it matter if he did? He is not horrified — not a bit of it. 
He was rather amused with the whole affair. If anything, 


Beaton’s bargain. 


33 


lie is rather taken with my little Quakeress. It is only 
natural, you know, that having been jilted by a lioness, he 
should console himself with a mouse.” 

Mrs. Winington did not reply at once, but a flash of vivid 
anger gleamed in her eyes, a look that Beaton knew and 
never trifled with. 

It would serve you right if he won the prize from you,” 
she said quietly. “ It is well you told me. I shall know 
what line to take. If,” she continued, after another slight 
pause — if I am to assist you, you must consult and be 
guided by me.- Leslie, I have not seen you for nearly a 
week; have you been absorbed by your devotion to Miss 
Vivian, or to — ” 

‘‘ Not altogether,” he interrupted quickly. “ I have 
escorted her to the Kensington Museum, and the British 
Museum, and the Zoo, but my evenings have been my own. 
She is raving to go to the theater, but I can not stand 
that. It is more than any man can stand to appear in 
public with the fearful old goody who chaperons her. 
Vour maid would disdain to associate with Mrs. Miles. 
She has a bad cold just now, thank Heaven. You must 
really help me, Jean, and educate your future sister-in-law# 
up to something suitable before I many her; and for ^ 
Heaven’s sake find her a drawing master, or a studio. She 
is a pertinacious little devil, and more difficult to make an 
impression on than I expected. Somehow she seemed 
struck with Maitland; she has twice asked me about him. 
She appears to think we are social Siamese twins. ” 

‘‘Ah, indeed,” returned Mrs. Winington, thought- 
fully. “ Well, Leslie, whenever you have finally settled 
with the acting guardian, I will call on this girl and see 
what is' to be done. I might ask her here, as Lady Mary 
has gone to do penance with her mother-in-law. But she 
must be obedient; she. must put herself completely in my 
hands.” 

“ Ah, Beaton, it is something to see you in good time,” 

2 


34 


BEATOIir^S BARGAIN. 


said Colonel Winington, who had entered unperceived, and 
now approached them. 

He was short and broad, with bowed legs and anything 
but a soldierly carriage. He derived his rank from the 
command of his county militia, to which his territorial 
possessions entitled him, and the field in which he had won 
renown was the hunting-field. An exceedingly red 
weather-beaten face, small sharp eyes, and iron-gray hair 
contrasted strongly with his wife^s grace and dignity; but 
he had a big, honest, kindly mouth, which displayed a 
good set of teeth when it widened into a broad grin, liis 
nearest approach to a laugh. 

‘‘ Yes, I am going to be practical and punctual, returned 
Beaton, gravely. ‘‘ In short I am going to turn over that 
new leaf I have been so long fingering. 

“ High time you should, my dear fellow. 

“ Why, Leslie, you have turned over new leaves enough 
to make a large volume,^ ^ said his sister. 

“ Sir James and Lady Preston, announced the butler, 
and Mrs. Winington went forward to receive them. Lady 
Mary Hay and Mr. Maitland quickly followed; then Mr. 
Ellis, a well-known dining-out man, and the little party 
was complete. 

Mrs. Winington welcomed Maitland with frank cordial- 
ity, and introduced him as an old play-fellow to her hus- 
band, who shook hands with him and said he was very glad 
to make his acquaintance. Then dinner was announced. 
Maitland took in Lady Mary, and found her an amusing 
companion; indeed every one of the party seemed gifted 
with the power of saying trifles agreeably in a way that 
sounded witty. The time flew in exchange of scandal, an- 
ecdote, and political chit-chat, and when the men rose 
from table. Colonel Winington excused himself from join- 
ing the ladies on the plea that he had promised to vote on 
a division that night. Sir James Preston, who held the re- 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 35 

sponsible appointment of Under Secretary to the Pounce 
and Taper Office, accompanied him. 

‘‘Do help me to persuade Lady Preston to sing, " said 
Mrs. Winington to her brother, as he came up to her. 

“ Have you ever heard Lady Preston sing, Mr. Maitland? 
She is a real songstress. Nature and art combined. J ust 
one song before you go, please. " 

“ I shall be most happy, and the lady, who had not re- 
fused, for Mrs. Winington had not asked her before, went 
readily to the piano, and trilled out one of Tosti's impas- 
sioned songs very deliciously. 

Mrs. Winington sat profoundly still in her corner of the 
sofa, her head slightly turned from Maitland, showing the 
graceful outline of her throat and the delicate beauty of her 
small ear. When the song was ended, Mrs. Winington 
heaved a deep sigh, and looking round to Maitland, who 
stood near her, smiled as she raised her eyes to his. 

“ What wonderful pathos she puts into it! It is a voice 
that pierces the heart, or whatever does duty for that sen- 
timental organ." 

“ A lovely voice," he returned, “ but a most doleful dit- 
ty. Do you not sing? I think I remember your singing ^ 

‘ Mary Morrison ’ in what I then considered a heavenly * 
style." 

“ I never sing Scotch songs except when I am alone," 
said Mrs. Winington. “ When I want to live the past 
over again, I sit down and croon to myself. " 

She drew her dress closer to her to make room, and with 
a gesture invited him to sit beside her. Maitland obeyed; 
tiie rest clustered round the piano discussing a new oper- 
etta, morsels from which Lady Preston played from time 
to time. 

“Tell me,” said Mrs. Winington slowly, opening and 
shutting a large black feather fan, “ how is it that my 
brother has persuaded you to assist him in his extraordinary 
scheme of finding a wife and a fortune from an advertise- 


3C 


j^eaton’s bargain. 


ment? I did not tliink you could liave so comj^letely cast 
aside the romantic chivalry that used to distinguish you in 
the days when we were Jean and Jack to each other/’ 

“ Komantic chivalry!” repeated Maitland, smiling. “ I 
am not aware ^ ever possessed such a characteristic. It 
must have evaporated long ago. But, Mrs. Winington, I 
had no idea what Leslie was about until he Ciime and asked 
me to be present at his introduction to the young lady 
whom he intends to appropriate. I confess I was amazed, 
and expressed my astonishment freely; but you don’t sup- 
pose any preaching of mine would influence your brother.^” 
“ No, I do not think any one influences him. But he 
has been talking to me very seriously about this strange idea 
of his, and has rather won me over. We have liad a great 
deal of anxiety about Leslie. He is provoking, but lovable, 
"^^ou see he is one of those unlucky men who can not 
work. ” 

' “ Indeed!” said Maitland dryly. 

“ Ah! to a man of your energy that must seem impossi- 
ble or contemptible, but you are quite different, you are — ” 
She stopped, looked down, and a soft flush stole over her 
cheek and throat. “ At all events,” raising her eyes to 
^ Maitland’s, which were bent on her with calm observation 
that stung her with an irritating sense that he was the 
stronger of the two — at all events poor Leslie has cost us 
a good deal in every way, and really, if this girl is not too 
dreadful, it would be well to secure her fortune for my 
brother. You know what a pleasant, easy-tempered fellow 
he is. He would never be a steady husband, nor would he 
ever be an unkind one. Her money might be tied up, and 
they would get on as well as half — two-thirds of the mar- 
ried people one meets.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Maitland, half unconsciously, as the 
recollection of the innocent, thoughtful, fearless eyes that 
looked out from under Miss Vivian’s countrified hat came 
back to him with a great wave of compassion. 


Beaton's baegain. 


37 


“ Tell me, what is she really like?" pursued Mrs. Win- 
in gt on. I can depend on what you say more than on 

Leslie's report. Of course she is not a gentlewoman. " 

“ I do not think my judgment can he of much use to 
you, Mrs. Winington; our ideas must be as widely differ- 
ent as our experiences. Miss Vivian is exceedingly rustic, 
and even to my uninstructed eye badly dressed, but she is 
rather quaint than unlady-like, there is no tinge of vulgarity 
about her. She is rather pretty; well, perhaps interesting 
is a better word, so it seems to me." 

“ Then you think I might make something of her?" 

‘‘ Oh, you could do wonders I have no doubt." 

‘‘ Ah, Mr. Maitland, your tone is cynical, but I am ready 
• to bear a good deal from you. " This with a deprecating 
smile and upward glance from her soft brown beseeching 
eyes. 

Maitland laughed good-humoredly. 

“You wrong me. In sober earnest I believe you could 
influence any young girl if you chose to be kind to her," 
he said. 

“You have grown veiy hard in these long years of wan- 
dering, Jack — ^forgive me, I mean Mr. Maitland. " 

“ My surroundings have certainly not been calculated to 
soften me," he returned. “But I don't suppose I am 
harder or stronger than my neighbors. HoweVer, I trust 
if you take up this scheme of your brother's you will give 
some consideration to the young lady's interests. I suppose 
your womanly sympathy will be her safeguard. " 

“ You seem to have espoused her cause very warmly," 
said Mrs. Winington, looking down. 

“ I do not think I have, only I like fair play. Remem- 
ber, it is a game of blind man's buff, with tremendous odds 
against the blind man, or rather woman. ' ' 

“You are right," said Mrs. Winington, gently. “I 
will remember what is due to this poor young thing. I 
promise to be her friend as well as Leslie's." 


38 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


“ I have no doubt you will be/" began Maitland, . when 
he was interrupted by a demand from Mr. Ellis. 

“ Do ask Lady Mary to sing, Mrs. Winington. I am 
sure she sings, and she is going to steal away to Lady An- 
nandale"s ball without acceding to our prayer."" 

‘‘ But I don"t sing; I don"t do anything but cumber the 
earth,"" said Lady Mary. ‘'I always find people to do 
everything for me much better than I could do things my- 
self. Why should T trouble?"" 

“ You must pay your shot, however, in one way or an- 
other,"" cried Mr. Ellis. 

“ hTot that I am aware of,"" replied Lady Mary. “I 
can"t pay for anything; I am too disgustingly poor."" 

“ Yet you contribute your share and a large one,"" cried 
Beaton. “ You add the harmonizing tone, the compli- 
mentary touch of color needed by society."" His tone, 
though light,,had a tinge of earnestness in it. 

My dear Mr. Beaton, you must have been attending 
some popular lectures on art. If I get on at all it is be- 
cause I am a neutral tint/" said Lady Mary, coming over 
to say good-night to Mrs. Winington. ‘‘ So sorry not to be 
^ still with you, dear. Yours is a delightful house to stay in, 

■ but I must do the devoted to my mother-in-law, or the re- 
sult will be insolvency. "" 

Lady Preston and Mr. Ellis were also going on to other 
engagements, and Beaton escorted Lady Mary. 

“ If you are not engaged too, I will sing you a Scotch 
song,"" said Mrs. Winington, as Maitland turned to bid 
her good-evening. “ Do you care to stay?"" 

So Maitland stayed. 

* * 

Mr. Dargan, who was in a sense the arbiter of Edith 
Vivian"s destiny, occupied the second floor in a dingy street 
off Chanceiy Lane. It was a den worthy the occupant, 
furnished scantily, with book-shelves full of shabby'calf- 
bound volumes, deed boxes, an iron safe, a knee-hole table 


BEATON^S BAKrTAIE-. 


39 


loaded with papers, a few leather-covered chairs worn away 
at the edges, the horse-hair protruding through the fract- 
ures, a square of carpet from which the pattern had long 
since disappeared, discolored hhnds, uncleaned windows, 
and pervaded by the odor of long accumulated dust. Mr. 
Dargan himself was standing beside the table holding a let- 
ter, at which he did not look — a small, lean, angular man, 
with crooked legs, and a large head, sharp little light eyes 
fenced by spectacles, a wide, thin-lipped mouth that seemed 
forever smiling, and a short, upturned, interrogative nose. 
His head was covered with a brown wig faded and shrunk 
from time and use, a fringe of thin grizzled hair showing 
below it at the sides, corresponding to his ragged whiskers. 
He wore an old-fashioned tail-coat and a black stock.. 
Dress, face, wig, all had a general hue of rust, an unwashed 
aspect not pleasant to look upon. His lips moved, as if 
repeating something to himself. Presentl^Jie muttered, 
“Five thou; can ^t venture to put it higher anyhow, and 
that^s a poor price, then he looked at the Tetter in his 
hand, and read it through with a sardonic grin. “ Blessed 
old babby, he said half aloud, as he restored it to the en- 
velope, “ it shall have its toys, it shall; it shall rub its ^ 
brasses as long as it does not hinder me from gathering the 
tin. I can manage business matters so much better than ^ 
he can, eh! I believe you! Well, well, it^s an ill wind 
that blows nobody good. Lord, what fools they all are! 
Here'^s another,'^ taking up a second letter, written in 
scrawly lines slanting downward, and reading — “ ‘ When is 
my darling to come back to me? she’ll never be happy among 
the grand friends you have picked up for her; she doesn’t 
want to go to them neither.’ Don’t she though? Wait 
till she finds she has a lover in that long-legged Scotchman. 

If Sally had an ounce of sense, what a help she might be 
to me! as it is I am obliged to keep the screw on, and one 
never gets the same good work under pressure as you do 
from free will. It’s a mercy I have a bit of writing that 


40 


beatok’s bargaik. 


might ruin her boy, the big idiot. I have him and her in 
my grip pretty fast. ‘ Your loving sister, S. Miles. ^ 
Bother! why the devil will she write? letters are always 
dangerous, tearing it viciously into a dozen pieces, and 
casting it into the waste-basket. 1^11 turn her to account 
for all her devotion to the girl. 

Here a dirty, shock-headed office-boy coming in inter- 
rupted him. “ Gentleman, he said spasmodically, thrust- 
ing a card almost in his master^s face. 

‘‘Ha! show him in; and mind you, I^m particularly en- 
gaged: Don't let mortal in, not even Mj.*. Lewis." 

The boy nodded and went out, whereupon Leslie Beaton 
entered, perfectly dressed, fresh, cool, good-humored, an 
extraordinary contrast to Dargan and his surroundings. 

“ Good-morning, sir, good -morning," said the latter, 
shambhng across the room to fetch a chair. “Sit down. 
Warm mornih', ain't it? Sun in your eyes?" He went 
to pull down the blind too suddenly, for it gave way at one 
side, and hung in a doleful festoon. 

“ Pray don't trouble yourself, I am quite comfortable." 
And Beaton, who had been more than once in the dusty 
lair, took a rapid glance at the chairs, selecting the least 
- bristly, instead of the one ofiPered him. 

“ Well, well, my dear sir, how are we getting on?" asked 
Dargan. 

“ That is what you call a leading question," returned 
Beaton, smiling. “ On the whole, not badly. I have been 
doing my duty. I have called, and been graciously re- 
ceived. I have presented flowers, and they have been 
graciougly, nay, joyously, accepted. In another fortnight 
or so I presume I may, with your sanction, venture to pro- 
pose. " 

“ There are just a few preliminaries to settle first," said 
Dargan, gently scratching^ his right temple with the top of 
his pen. “ I asked you to come and talk them over, be- 


BEATON'S BAKGAIN. 


41 


cause Mr. Tilly leaves everything to me. He's gone away 
to Yorkshire to rub up the brasses on an old tomb, or some 
such thing; anyhow he ain't here, and we don't want 
him." 

‘‘ Oh, I am perfectly content. You have a masterly way 
of managing business that is quite remarkable. Pray what 
are these preliminaries? I thought you had sufficiently in- 
quired as to my walk in life, and found the particulars 
highly creditable. In fact I am the most virtuous man about 
town. I had even got rid of my debts before I had the 
pleasure of meetmg your charming ward, though I warn 
you they are beginning rapidly to accumulate again." 

“ That I dare say," returned Dargan with a grin. “ I 
am prepared to stand your friend, and remember, without 
my full consent " — ^h^e his little eyes twinkled gleefully — 

no man has a chance for three or four years to come. 
Now I am not going to give it lightly; and first, are ye dis- 
posed to make any sacrifice to prove you are in earnest?" 

My dear sir, I really have nothing to sacrifice but my 
liberty, and liberty paralyzed by want of the circulating 
medium is not much to resign. " 

^‘Ahem! true for you," said Dargan, with a sigh. 

I'm sure it would take half a day to tell all the trouble 
and toil I've had with the Vivian estate, to say nothing of 
the valuable time it has taken up, and not even twenty 
pounds for a mourning ring to reward me. You know, old 
Tilly and me, we are executors as well as guardians, and 
every blessed bit of work has fallen to my share. Of course 
I'd gladly do my best for the minor. Me and my sister 
look upon her as our own child, that we do. " Here he 
took a pinch of snuff to hide the intensity of his feelings, 
and waited for a reply. Beaton, however, only bowed 
assent. ‘‘ As I said," resumed Dargan, I'd do anything 
for the dear child, but I am a poor man; my time is my 
money, and I have spent hours, ay, months upon her." 

“ I begin to understand," said Beaton, leaning forward. 


42 BEATOlSr'S BARGAIN-. 

his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. Pray 
go on. 

You are not a business man, Mr. Beaton/^ continued 
Dargan, with an insinuating grin, “ you are above these 
sort of things; but I liad a very sensible letter from a young- 
man I once pulled through an awkward fix, and who has 
since shot ahead and made a lot of money. He wrote on 
spec, and thinking he might suit, 1 answered him much 
about the time you wrote; then, when Mr. Tilly thought 
you the likeliest party of the two, I put him off. J ust look 
at his view of the matter. 

Beaton took and read the letter; it contained a distinct 
offer of four thousand pounds on condition that a marriage 
between him and Dargan^s ward should be completed, and 
settlements fully satisfactory to himself should be drawn 
up. 

“Ah! this is extremely distinct. You wish some re- 
muneration for your valuable time and fatherly care? I 
really doiiT see what claim you have on me, my dear sir. 
If my future wife wishes to bestow any trifling gift in the 
shape of friendship^’s offering as a token of gratitude for 
your disinterested care, I have no objection. 

Mr. Dargan grinned more amiably than ever. 

“ And suppose I withdraw my sanction, my assistance, 
where are you?^^ 

“ And suppose I persuade the yomig lady to dispense 
with your consent?^^ asked Beaton, with an ineffable air. 
“ What shall you do?^^ 

“ Let her money accumulate until I grant it, and tie it 
up so tight that you canT touch a rap, save with her con- 
sent, during her life or after her death. 

“ But you would not give her to tliis— this bagman?” 
asked Beaton, striking the letter with his finger, and tlieii 
throwing it on the table. 

“ Why not? He is a good sort of fellow, with reddish 
hair, not unlike yourself.” 


beatok's bargain. 43 

Beaton looked at him, and then burst into a good- 
humored fit of laughing. 

“ I fancy Miss Vivian would see a difference, he said. 

“ May be so, may be so, but that ain-’t the question. Are 
you inclined to follow my correspondent's example? I am 
foolish enough when I like a man, as I like you, especially 
when 1 am inchned to believe you would make my dear lit- 
tle ward happy, to forget my own interest, only I mustnH, 
I mustn^t allow myself to be weak, for my poor sister’s 
sake as well as my own. Who’ll look after me when I am 
past my work?” 

“ I can not tell, I am sure. But how do you think it 
would sound if I were to make your proposition public?” 

“ I don’t know, and I don’t care much; besides, I am not 
going to commit myself to anything in writing, and I’ll 
just say it’s an invention — my word is as good as yours.” 

Beaton laughed. “ Eeally your candor is quite refresh- 
ing. Where do you think I shall find foui* thousand 
pounds?” 

‘‘ Oh, you’ll find that much fast enough. Now, to show 
I am disposed to favor you, instead of pitting my Birming- 
ham friend against you, and raising my terms. I’ll only ask 
the same, 'provided you leave the management of the prop- 
erty in my hands when it comes into yom’s. You wouldn’t 
care to be bothered toiling and moiling after rents, and all 
that. ” 

‘'You are an admirable diplomate after the knock-me- 
down Bismarckian school, Mr. Dargan,” said Beaton, lean- 
ing back in his chair and eying the little guardian through 
half-closed .lids. “I can not admire your cynical frank- 
ness sufficiently.” 

“It’s all very fine talking,” returned Dargan. “ But I 
have what you want, and if you are in earnest you must 
come to terms.” 

After some further fencing, Beaton, who was extremely 
impatient to finish the enterprise he had undertaken, to be 


44 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN". 


legally master of Miss Vivian ^s fortune, and to be delivered 
from his dependent condition; moreover, too indolent to 
prolong the struggle in which he was at a decided disad- 
vantage, showed signs of yielding. Dargan, eagle-eyed to 
pounce on any unguarded point, pressed home. 

‘‘ Why, I have been here nearly an hour,^^ cried Beaton 
at last, looking at his watch, “ and it is such a fine day. 
My time is nearly up. Let us come to some conclusion. 

“ Ay, by all means, it rests with you; you know my 
terms, and I am really sorry I can^t move an inch from 
them, not with justice to myself. " 

‘‘ A sense of justice which I imagine never fails you. 

I hope it never will, my dear sir, never. 

Well, look here then; I don^t mind about the money, 
but I should like to put my own man to manage the estate 
for me, in short, excuse the brutality, I would rather not 
have you for the middleman. ” 

Don^t mention it,^' said Dargan with a grin, ‘‘ though 
you will regret the prejudice by and by. If I fall in with 
your views I must have an equivalent. 

“ What will you consider an equivalent cried Beaton, 
again looking impatiently at his watch. 

“ Hum! it is rather hard to say off-hand; but there, I 
will not bargain with a man like yourself — hand me over 
five thousand pounds witliin a week of your marriage and I 
shall be satisfied. 

“ Five thousand! that is a tremendous haul, and, as you 
tell me, there is not much ready money. Will not this 
cramp me?'^ 

“ Not a bit of it. That last purchase of old Vivian’s, 
which swallowed up so much of his ready cash, is worth 
nearly double what he gave for it. I can get you double 
what it cost him any day for a piece of it. Then we have 
let two farms in Norfolk for fifteen hundred a year between 
them. Oh, there is plenty of property; you just sign a lit- 
tle bond acknowledging yourself my debtor for five thou- 


BEATON BARGAIN. 45 

sand pounds at five per cent., and matters will go smooth 
and easy. 

‘‘For you perhaps. But I am not such an incapable as 
to put myself so completely in your power. Would you 
trust me as you ask me to trust you?^^ 

‘‘ Ay, don^t you be too mistrustful; it is a bad sign, my 
dear young friend. 

I will sign no such bond, Mr. Dargan, I assure you, 
unless I can be secured in some way. Why, you might de- 
mand payment whether I were married or not. 

“ Why, what have I done that you think me a common 
cheat 

“ Bather an ^^wcommon one,^^ returned Beaton con- 
temptuously. “ Of course I mean in an intellectual sense. 
Show me how I can be secured, and I "’ll sign what you like 
as to the five thousand pounds. 

“ Dear, dear! what a money-lender was spoiled when 
you were born a gentleman, exclaimed Dargan, with an 
admiring leer. 

“ Born a borrower instead of a lender, you mean. 

Let me see, how can I satisfy you? I am that oblig- 
ing, IM like to make things easy. Suppose when you exe- 
cute the bond I give you a letter stating that unless the 
marriage between you and Miss Vivian tabes place the bond 
is void, that I absolve you from all obligation of payment 

“ Yes, I think that might do, but I should like counsels 
opinion on it. ” 

“ Ah, what nonsense! There is no use throwing away a 
fee. Just ask any lawyer you know, put a case without 
mentioning names, and he ^11 tell you you are as safe as the 
bank.^^ 

‘‘I will,^^ returned Beaton; ‘‘meantime, unless advised 
to the contrary, it is a bargain. 

“ Good, good; I am glad you see your own interest. 

“ Then I can press on with my suit. By the way, my 
sistej’ is so good as to say she will call on Miss Vivian. I 


46 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


should like to invite my hxiwcQ fiancee to stay with her; she 
will want a good deal of coaching up. If she does^ Mr. 
Dargan, I warn you she will ask you for big checks. 

“ Oh, Lord!^^ exclaimed Dargan, shrugging up his 
shoulders as if in pain. “ Does it cost such a heap to start 
a young lady?” 

I fancy the general run of milliners^ bills would make 
you open your eyes. But I have an appointment, and I am 
late already. Now I suppose I may make all the running 
I can?” 

“ Certainly, I am as ready to sing haste to the wedding 
as you are. You are just the husband I should like for my 
dear little pet, my pretty ward.^^ 

“ Much obliged to jou” said Beaton, taking his hat; 
“ let me have a line when the bond and the letter are ready, 
so good-morning. ” 

‘‘ Eascally old money-grubber!” he muttered as he ran 
down-stairs and hailed a hansom to conv^ 4iim to a more 
agreeable meeting. ‘‘ I shall give you a wide berth once 
your ward is transformed into Mrs. Leslie Beaton.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

BELEAGUERED. 

“It is an infernal nuisance being kept here week after 
week,” said Jack Maitland to himself as he walked slowly 
up Regent Street one bright afternoon, when all the world 
seemed crowding to shop and drive and disport themselves 
in the great thoroughfare. The shop windows were re- 
splendent with every luxury that wealth could buy or 
human ingenuity invent, and the pavement thronged with 
busy well-dressed and ill-dressed pedestrians. “ There^s no 
sight of its kind like this, I suppose,” mused Jack, “ but I 
would rather not see it every day, unless I had a good lot 
of real work to do. It would be better for me to be away, 


BEATON^S BABGAIN’. 


47 


back at Craigrothie. There is not much doing there now, 
but a few days^ fishing can always be had; that's an amuse- 
ment one can enjoy with quiet pulses, which is more than 
can be said of some here." So thinking, Maitland ap- 
proached Oxford Circus, intending to call on a New Zea- 
land acquaintance now settled in Tyburnia. 

Suddenly a look of surprised attention replaced the care- 
less glance with which he had noticed the shops and the 
varied throngs, as his eye was attracted by a little figure in 
a gray waterproof and a brown hat. The wearer was one 
of a group gazing into a window full of the most delicate 
and airy creations in the shape of bonnets, wreaths, and 
caps, and was far too much absorbed in contemplation to 
notice Maitland, who had immediately recognized Edith 
Vivian. 

He was quite startled to see her in that noisy crowded 
thoroughfare. Country-bred as he was, it seemed to him 
unbecoming for a lady to venture alone in ne of the busiest 
of London streets, and he hastened to give her the protec- 
tion of his companionship. 

“ Miss Vivian, may I hope you remember that I was in- 
troduced to you by — " 

“ Oh, yes," she interrupted, with a bright . startled look 
of surprise and pleasure, a quick blush flitting over her 
cheek. I am very glad to see you. I was just beginning 
to fear I had taken a wrong turn, that round place is rather 
puzzling, and yoio will show me the best way back to Ke- 
gent's Park." 

“ I shall be most happy to assist you in any way. How 
is it that you are alone?" asked Jack Maitland, gravely. 

“ Mrs. Miles is very unwell, she has been suffering dread- 
fully for some days from neuralgia. So 1 walked down to 
Oxford Street to buy a wonderful cure we saw advertised in 
the newspaper; then I could not help looking into the 
shops, they are so beautiful, and I have, come far out of my 
way, I am afraid, without knowing it. " 


48 


BEATON^S BAROAIK. 


I shall certainly see you home, or call a cab, whichever 
you hke,"^ said Maitland. ‘‘ It is not quite safe for you to 
wander about alone. 

‘‘ Why? There is nothing to fear. I take veiy little 
money, and no one ever interferes with me. 

“ Still, I do not like to see you by yourself. Will you 
walk or drive 

I would rather walk, if you will walk with me- I get 
so little walking, and it is very wearisome to sit all day in 
the house. 

“ Very well, let us walk,^^ returned Maitland, amused 
and touched by her unconscious natural manner. “ I sup- 
pose you have seen enough of the shops? 

‘‘ Indeed I have not. I never dreamed that clothes could 
be so delightful, that I should want to buy things so much,'’^ 
she said, laughing; “ but I do not want to look at them any 
more just now, if that is what you mean. I have been too 
long away from Mrs. Miles. 

“ Very well, let us make for Camden Town at once. I 
think you said you lived in Camden Town. Can you walk 
all that way?^^ 

“ Oh, it is not far; I used to walk miles in the country. 

Little more was said till Maitland had piloted her across 
Oxford Street, and they had reached the comparative quiet 
of Langham Place. Maitland noticed the smooth, elastic 
step of his companion, the ease and grace of her move- 
ments; they indicated, he thought, symmetry of form; 
while her silence, which was not from lack of intelligence, 
but from the absence of any effort to speak miless she had 
something to say, had a soothing effect. 

“I suppose you ride when you are at home?^^ began 
Maitland, who was curious to learn something of her past. 

“ Not now. When I had my father with me we had a 
dear old white pony, and I used often to ride on him, some- 
times without a saddle; his back was quite broad and e,om- 
fortable. But one day, afterward, you know (he under- 


BEATO]Sr^S BARGAIK. 


49 


stood that she meant after her father death), Mr. Dar- 
gan came down and saw poor old Bob feeding in the little 
field near the cottage. Then he said he was no use, and 
sold him, and let the field to strangers, so we have only the 
garden and orchard now. 

I dare say you were sorry for the pony.^^ 

‘‘ Sorry! I ivas sorry! It made me hate Mr. Dargan,^^ 
emphatically. Indeed I shall never like him, I have told 
him so; but I am almost inclined to forgive him for send- 
ing my good kind Miley to live with me. I do not know 
V'hat would become of me without Miley. 

“ I suppose that is a pet name for Mrs. Miles?'' Miss 
Vivian gave a little nod of assent. ‘‘ It is rather alarming 
to hear a young lady confess that she hates any one." 

Is it? Well, I did hate Mr. Dargan, and I hated the 
doctor at Littlemere; I can not or I could not help it. I 
believe I had a bad temper. " 

“Has time tamed it, or have* you nobly struggled to 
overcome your own evil nature?" asked Maitland, looking 
down with a smile at the sweet, thoughtful face beside him. 

Miss Vivian laughed a low, pleasant, happy laugh. 
“ I am afraid not; I grew stronger and did not need the 
doctor, and as I felt better and brighter and able to enjoy 
I forgot Mr. Dargan. Now he is going to let me learn 
drawing, and I feel almost friendly toward him." 

There was a pause. Maitland thought with growing in- 
terest and sincere compassion that this was not a nature to 
be satisfied with the shams of society and the paste dia- 
monds of a showy setting to life. Still Beaton could be very 
fascinating, and she might believe him the best of men, 
nor have her faith disturbed all the days of her life. 

“If Mrs. Miles is well enough to see me, perhaps you 
will let me look at some of your drawings when we reach 
your lodgings!" 

“ Yes, I will, gladly. I can draw very little now, but I 
am to go to a studio in Kensington, at least I liope so. 


50 


::iEATON"s BARGAIN. 


They have promised to get Mr. Dargan^s consent. 

Who have promised? 

“ Mr. Beaton and his sister. Do you know that lie 
brought his sister to see me? Was it not good of him? 
And she/^ a look of infinite pleasure and admiration beam- 
ing over her face, ‘‘ oh, she is lovely! she is like a beautiful 
gracious queen, and so kind to me, a mere ignorant country 
girl. She has asked me to stay with her while I am study- 
ing, and says she will do all that is necessary for me. Is it 
not wonderful ?^^ 

ejaculated Maitland, ‘‘you mean Mrs. Wining- 
ton. She is certainly charming. When do you go to stay 
with her?^^ 

“ I am not quite sure. I should have gone on Monday, 
but Mrs. Miles was ill, and I could not leave her; indeed 
that is the only drawback. I do not like her being alone 
by herself in the cottage — she will fret; but she says she 
does not mind. I think Mr. Dargan has told her she must 
not."" 

So Mrs. Winington was not letting the grass grow under 
her feet in the prosecution of her brother"s plan. How 
would it all end for the guileless chdd, who was probably 
looked upon by both as a mere incumbrance to her own 
wealth? What would be the result of Mrs. Winington"s 
training? what of associations with Leslie Beaton? How 
much of her fearless candor, her outspoken truthfulness, 
would be left after three or four years of life under their 
guidance? Maitland was conscious of almost fatherly com- 
passion and tenderness toward his young companion, and 
yet he could do nothing to help or save her; his interference 
would be worse than useless. If he could induce Jean, 
Mrs. Winington, to espouse her cause! But could he? He 
thoroughly distrusted that charming personage, although 
she still had fascination for him. At any rate he would 
call on her and endeavor to find her 'real disposition toward 
the lonely little hehess. 


UKATON^S BARC4AIN-. 


51 


All this passed through his brain rapidly, and he said 
aloud, “ Mr. Dargan appears a very potent person. 

“He is,^^ said Miss Vivian, with a little sigh; “ I can 
not get any money except by his consent. I do not know 
what he will think of all Mrs. Winington talks of buying 
for me.^^ 

“ I have no doubt Mrs. Winington will manage him if 
any one can.^^ 

More desultory but friendly sympathetic talk brought 
them to the door of Miss Vivian^s temporary abode. 

“ Will you come in?^^ she said; and Maitland, with an 
odd feeling that he was in some way trespassing, followed 
her into a small sitting-room of a most “ lodging-house 
order, only saved from vulgarity by its neatness and the 
abundant flowers which beautifled and perfumed it. “ If 
you will sit down for a moment I will see how Mrs. Miles 
is. ” She pointed to a chair and left the room. 

“What an abode for an heiress thought Jack Mait- 
land, glancing round at the mean furniture and narrow 
space. “ I don^t suppose she has the faintest idea of her 
own possessions. She ought to be informed. I am half in- 
clined to tell her myself. I earnestly hope they will tie up 
her money strictly when she marries Beaton; for I suj)- 
pose she must — she can hardly escape. He took u^ a 
book, it was Whitens “ Selborne;^’ he took up another,^ 
“Old Mortality. “Not quite the newest literature,” 
said Maitland to himself, with a smile. He looked inside 
the cover, and found a coat-of-arms and crest, with the 
name “ Eichard Vivian ” printed under it. “A volume 
from the family library, I suppose. ” 

At this point in his meditations Miss Vivian re-entered. 

She had removed her hat, and Maitland observed how 
much better and more distinguished she looked without it. 
Her head was small and well poised, and her hair, though 
pale in color, was abundant, while the gentle composure of 
her manner and movements gave her dignity. 


52 


liEATO^r^S BAKGAIN. 


‘‘ I must not ask you to stay/'’ she said, “ I find Mrs. 
Miles so unwell, I must attend to her; and the dressmaker 
sent by Mrs. Winington is waiting for me. 

“ Then I will not trespass any longer; I hope to have 
another opportunity of seeing your drawings. ” 

“ If you know Mrs. Winington, I may see you at her 
house. 

‘‘ I hope I shall, you are very good to have walked all 
this way with me. Good-bye; and tell me, what is your 
name? I did not heed Mr. Tilly when he irftroduced you.^*’ 

‘‘ My name is Maitland. 

I think I did not notice your name, because I was 
taken up with the sort of likeness I saw about your eyes to 
my father’ s. Good-bye. ’ ’ 

She held out her hand with a grave, kindly smile. Mait- 
land took and lightly pressed it. 

“ If I can ever do anytliing for you,” he exclaimed with 
a sudden impulse, ‘‘pray remember that I am at your 
service. ” Then, half ashamed of liis speech, he made a 
rapid retreat. 

“Every one is very good to me,” was Edith Vivian’s 
reflection, as she hurried away to the grand-looking dress- 
maker, of whom she was a little afraid, and submitted to 
the process of “ trying on,” having been previously meas- 
ured under Mrs. . Winington ’s eye. Faithful, however, to 
her sulfering friend, she begged leave to show herself to 
Mrs. Miles before she took off the garment. 

“ Is it not pretty?” she exclaimed, drawing up the blind, 
that Mrs. Miles might see clearly. “ The skirt is to be 
trimmed with a quantity of the same lace, and bows of 
brown satin ribbon; they look lovely against the tussore 
silk. This is called a simple morning-dress! It seems to 
me too fine to wear. I wonder what Mr. Dargan will say!” 

“ Ah! he won’t mind now,” returned Mrs. Miles, with 
a sigh so deep it was almost a groan, and would certainly 


BEATON^S BARGAIIT. 


53 


have attracted Edith^s attention had she not been hurrying 
back to the dress-maker. 

“You seem worse than you were this morning, dear 
Miley,^^ she said, returning presently in her every-day dress; 
“ and you look as if you had been crying. 

“ Well, you see the pain has been horrid bad, and I am 
that weak — ^ ^ Here the poor woman broke down. 

“ I will get you some beef-tea and a glass of wine, and 
then I will try this wonderful stuff. It is a whitish stick, 
and it is to be rubbed on your brow till the pain goes, 
and Edith went swiftly and silently to and fro, procuring 
the remedies she had suggested, and Mrs. Miles grew more 
composed. 

“ Whatever will I do without you, Edith? — the sight of 
you does me good.^^ 

“ I will not leave you till you are quite well and strong. 

“ Ay, but you must, my lamb. Brother Jos has been 
here while you were out ” — a half suppressed sob. 

“ Oh!^^ cried Edith; “ he has been here! Then he has 
been tormenting you. What did he say?^^ 

“ Well, he was a bit fidgety; but always anxious about 
you, missie, my dear. And do you know he has even been 
to see that Mrs. AVinington about you? — and you are to 
go to her on Saturday. I am to be sent home, because this 
place doesnT suit me; so Jos says. He has grown wonder- 
ful careful of my health all at once " —in a querulous tone. 
“ How he came to know such grand people as that Mrs. 
Winington and her brother is more than I can tell; any- 
how they are very nice and civil-spoken.^^ 

“ Yes, they are very delightful; but, dear Miley, I am 
not going to leave you, or to be ordered about by Mr. Dar- 
gan,^^ cried Edith, indignantly. 

“ Ay, but you must, my dear. Jos is in real earnest 
about it. He had up the landlady, and gave her warning 
on the spot, and we are to be out of this, bag and baggage, 
by twelve oYlock on Saturday morning; so I wish you 


54 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


would just write a line to Sarah, and tell her to have the 
fire alight in the little parlor, and be sure to have my bed 
well-aired — sheets and all. Though this is a vale of tears, 
one needn^t suffer more than one can help.^^ 

‘‘ Well, Miley, I will not stay long; I will come soon to 
you."" 

“Ah! my dear, it"s little I"ll see of you from this time 
forth for evermore,"" cried Mrs. Miles, who was apt to grow 
scriptural in her sorrow. 

Why, where am I to be sent?"" said Edith, laughing. 
“ I can not be kept out of my own home."" 

“Ah! you "11 soon be finding another home among all 
these fine gentlemen. "" 

“ They are too fine for me,"" said Edith, putting out her 
writing things. “ I feel quite stupid among them. It will 
be a long time before I find another home. "" 

And she began to write rapidly. 

“Miley,"" she resumed, after a few minutes" pause, 
“ you remember the other gentleman that Mr. Tilly intro- 
duced to us; I mean the dark one?"" 

“ Yes; a quiet, grave man."" 

“ I met him to-day, and he walked all the way back with 
me. I like him so much! He is serious and gentle; he 
does not seem to laugh at everything, like Mr. Beaton; and 
he speaks to me as if I were a reasonable being. I could 
tell him anything. It is curious, but he gives me the idea 
that he is sorry for me. He reminds me of my father 
when he used to look far away, and stroke my head, say- 
ing, ‘ Poor child, poor child!" "" 

“ Well, missie, don"t you go and trust any one too much, 
least of all a man ; they are a selfish lot the best of them. 
Now, dear, I"ll try and sleep a bit. "" 

Edith Vivian had led a singularly secluded, monotonous 
life. She had been the sole companion of her widowed fa- 
ther, a silent, unconsciously selfish man, who had been re- 
duced from easy circumstances to comparative poverty by 


BEATOI^'S BAKGAIK. ' 


55 


the failure of a bank, and who found absorbing occupation 
in botany and natural history. When he died, he left his 
little all to his daughter — a picturesque cottage in a wooded 
part of H shire, and a couple of hundred a year; ap- 

pointing his only friend, Mr. Tilly, and Mr. Tilly's oracle 
on business matters, Dargan, her guardians. Dargan, having 
a sister for whom he wished to provide without cost to him- 
self, ^aced her in the cottage, and in charge of the little 
eleven-year- old orphan, as the cheapest mode of maintain- 
ing both. Fortunately, Mrs. Miles proved to be a tender- 
hearted, conscientious woman, and she lived happily with 
her young charge, who found ample amusement and occu- 
pation in field and garden, woodland and pebbly brook, in 
needle-work, and reading what books had belonged to her 
father. When she was about thirteen, Mrs. Miles so far 
overcame her dread of Josiah Dargan, her brother, as to 
clamor for some learning to be given to Miss Vivian, tliat 
she might be like other young ladies, and even reached the 
ear of that very distinguished and dusty antiquarian, Mr. 
Tilly, who did seriously incline to her prayer. So the 
prim, neat, elderly daughter of the late vicar, who was 
thankful for any chance of eking out her narrow income, 
was engaged at an infinitesimal salary, to impart instruc- 
tion in English, French and the rudiments of music, to the 
little girl at the cottage. 

Edith was not particularly studious, nor was the teaching 
calculated to interest her. Still she gathered some in- 
formation, especially on the subjects which took her fancy. 

About two years before the beginning of this narrative, 
her uncle died intestate, and she became the owner of con- 
siderable wealth. 

Edith herself knew little or nothing about it. Mr. Tilly 
had told her she would now be well off, but no alteration 
had been made in her mode of life. 

To Dargan, this change in his ward's circumstances was 
a positive torment. His grasping fingers itched to clutch 


56 ' BEATON'S BARGAIN. 

some of the riches they could touch, but not take while the 
dread of discovery held him back. His imagination con- 
stantly pictured Edith running off with some shrewd fort- 
une-hunter, who would not only gather up every farthing 
of both the principal and accumulations of this latter in- 
heritance, but make him, Dargan, disgorge the considera- 
ble pickings he had contrived to get, even out of the misera- 
ble two hundred a year he had so long manipulated. To 
find a suitable(?) husband for his ward before she reached 
the independence of majority, was the object nearest his 
heart, and as Edith approached eighteen, his feverish un- 
rest drove him to the expedient we have recorded. 

It was a trial to Edith to part with Mrs. Miles, who, 
though somewhat better, physically, was terribly depressed 
in spirit; and it was also something of a trial to go to Mrs. 
‘VVinington's, but a trial not unmixed with pleasure. 

Though all her life a recluse, Edith Vivian was not shy; 
she was naturally brave, and disposed to trust her fellow- 
creatures. She was also singularly free from self-consicous- 
ness, and her extreme ignorance of life and society libera- 
ted her from many of the doubts and fears wliich would 
have beset a less complete novice. 

“ I will write often, and tell you everything; you may be 
sure I will! You know I love writing; and do — do write 
to me! If you are not well I will come to you, I ivill, 
whatever Mr. Dargan chooses to say." So with many 
kisses Edith bade her good old companion farewell, and 
took her seat in the respectable-looking brougham which, 
to her surprise, had been engaged by Mr. Dargan 's direc- 
tion to convey her to South Kensington. On her way there 
her imagination was chiefly occupied in picturing Mrs. 
Miles's arrival at the little homely cottage. How lonely 
she would feel! How Snap the terrier and the colly would 
welcome her, and then look about for their mistress and 
playfellow! Well, she would go to them as soon as she had 
gathered some knowledge of drawing, and pei’suaded her 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 57 

guardians to let her return next spring for a long spell of 
study! 

Mrs. Winington was at home and alone to receive her. 
She was ushered into that lady’s private sitting-room, a 
delightful apartment, looking into a large public garden, 
and furnished with all that could charm the eye and con- 
tribute to luxurious ease. 

“ Ah, Miss Vivian! I am so pleased to see you,” cried 
Mrs. Winington, rising to greet her with great cordiality. 

It is really very good of Mr. Tilly to trust you with me! 
But we shall take great care of you!” — and she drew for- 
ward a low easy-chair. You are looking pale and tired; 
I am sure you must be moped to death.” 

You are very, very kind to ask me here,” said Edith, 
earnestly. I am so different from you that I may be 
tiresome, but — ” 

“ I shall turn you out with inexorable cruelty if you 
are!” interrupted Mrs. Winington, laughing; but I do 
not anticipate such a catastrophe! Now you must leave 
all tristesse behind you; and do you know your eyes look 
suspiciously like tears!” 

Yes, I did cry a little,” said Edith, coloring. I was 
so sorry to see Mrs. Miles go away alone; I have never 
been away from her since she came to me, nearly seven 
years ago.” 

“ Very sweet and nice of you, dear, but it is time you 
broke away from this incongruous companionship. That 
good old woman was only fit to be your nurse! You need 
not discard her, but you have been shamefully neglected, 
and kept in the background. Now you must be introduced 
to society suited to your fortune and position. ” 

‘‘lam afraid I am not suited to any society, except that 
of a few people whom I like and understand. It is a great 
pleasure -for me to look at you and listen to you; I wonder 
if I shall ever be able to paint you!” said Edith, with 


58 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


simple earnestness. Mrs. Winington was not so blinded 
by her natural and acquired worldliness as not to perceive 
and be flattered by this honest and unstinted admiration. 

I wish you a better subject/’’ she said^ laughing. 
“ Now, come with me, and I will show you your room be- 
fore luncheon. Madame Laure has sent some of your 
things, and I see you have put on one of her dresses.'’^ 

• Edith followed her hostess upstairs, to a pretty comforta- 
ble room, where was laid out what seemed to Edith an 
enormous amount of clothes — clothes, too, of a superb de- 
scription. Delicate silks, gauzy grenadines, fairy-like hats, 
coquettish mantles. What a quantity of money they 
must have cost!^^ she cried, aghast. “ What will Mr. 
Dargan say!^^ 

That you have a right to the common necessaries req- 
uisite for a young lady who is to live like other people, 
said Mrs. Winington, carelessly ringing the bell as she 
spoke. Her summons was almost immediately answered 
by a grave, well-dressed young woman. There, my dear 
Miss Vivian, is your especial maid! She will attend to your 
toilet, and she understands her business. Markham, you 
had better do Miss Vivian '’s hair before luncheon; she has 
been living shut up in the country, and I trust to you to do 
her justice. 

At luncheon the only guest was Beaton, who did his best 
to be fascinating; and then came a crowning joy. Mrs. 
Winington^s smart Victoria conveyed them to a studio 
quite near, where Edith satisfied her eyes with the draw- 
ings, water-colors, casts, and beautiful objects scattered 
about, while Mrs. Winington arranged terms with the 
fashionable artist, who condescended to instruct a few 
pupils for a high remuneration. It was settled that Edith 
should commence the following Monday. Some shopping 
in Eegent and Bond sti’eets and a drive in the Park com- 
pleted the day; and Edith, exhilarated by the unusual 
movement and variety, found herself quite equal to the 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


59 


ceremony of dinner, as she had never seen dinner served 
before; and introduction to Colonel Winington, who was 
quite ready to accept his wife ^s new favorite unquestioningly, 
as he never interfered with her so long as she left him alone, 
and did not spend too outrageous a quantity of money. 

Meanwhile, Jack Maitland still loitered in town, dissatis- 
fied with himself, yet unwilling to leave. He was strong 
and penetrating enough to be not one whit blinded to Mrs. 
Winington^s real nature, and yet her beauty, her grace, 
her evident desire to atone in some way for her past heart- 
lessness, dazzled and fascinated him. 

That a brilliant woman of fashion, courted and admired 
as she was, should still remember her first uncouth boyish 
lover, and show him that she did so with undisguised ten- 
derness, was enough to make a fool of most men. Jack 
had long ago ceased to feel the smallest anger against her. 
He was naturally generous and broad, but not easily melted, 
and there was a dash of contempt in the plenary absolution 
he had extended to bonny Jean Beaton. 

‘‘ Why should I dislike her for being what she is, rather 
than what I thought her?^^ had been his reflection years 
back, when he began to work his way out of the chaos into 
which she had plunged him; and however attractive she 
might still be, the core of his opinion was unaltered and 
unalterable. But Mrs. Winington^s beauty and softness 
appealed to the senses, and Maitland^s were still fresh and 
keen. He could not help the resisted consciousness that 
his old love was not indisposed to sob out her penitence in 
his arms, and he knew — none better — ^how sweet those 
ripe red lips of hers used to be in the delightfully delusive 
old days, when they wandered together among the ‘‘ banks 
and braes of Oraigrothie. 

He therefore found it very pleasant to drop in to luncheon, 
and oftener still to tea, though he scarcely went as often 
af%e was asked. It is true that Mrs. Winington was fre- 
quently suiTOunded; but there were occasional hours of 


60 Beaton’s bargain. 

quiet Ute-a-tMe talk, cliietiy retrospective, which he could 
not help enjoying. 

Indeed Maitland often wondered what she saw in a plain 
and somewhat unpolished man like himself to find worth 
fascinating. Still that process was agreeably exciting, 
though he was often ungrateful enough when leaving her 
to be dimly thankful she was not his wife. 

There was now a fresh motive for his visits to Fairfield 
Gardens. He was anxious to see how Beaton’s suit pros- 
pered. How the little field flower bore the atmosphere of 
the splendid hot-house into which she had been transifianted. 

Mrs. Winington was dispensing tea to Lady Mary Hay, 
Beaton, Miss Vivian, a youthful Guardsman, and a very 
thick-set, elderly man, with a small allowance of neck, who 
breathed with a snoring sound, and drank his tea noisily. 

Miss Vivian was sitting a little apart busy with some 
fancy work. Maitland could hardly believe that dress 
could have so improved any face and figure without destroy- 
ing its individuality. A gown of soft, creamy material all 
ruffled with foamy lace; her soft hair piled, on the top of 
her head, meeting a fringe of tiny curls parted on her 
brow; a tea-rose and spray of fern against her neck. She 
looked like a modest primrose, and. had in no way lost her 
air of delicate quaintness. Maitland felt a sense of refresh- 
ment as his eyes fell upon her, and she met them with a 
sudden brightening of her own as she rose to meet him with 
an honest unconcealed expression of pleasure. 

“ Mr. Maitland, I thought you had left town,” cried 
Mrs. Winington, holding out her hand. ‘‘ AVhat has be- 
come of you? — and what have we done that you should cut 
us in this way?” 

“ I have been wandering to and fro, as usual, and feel- 
ing a good deal bored,” returned Maitland, making his 
way to Miss Vivian after greeting Lady Mary and Beaton. 
“I scarcely knew you as I came in,” he said; “ such a 
complete transformation is confusing.’'’ 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


61 


‘‘ Yes/^ said Beaton, ‘‘ you can see that Jean^s reform- 
ing fingers have swept the lines where rust had lingered/^ 

“ Really, Leslie, you are absolutely brutal! — to associate 
rust with anything half so ethereal as Edith is too absurd, 
exclaimed Mrs. Winington. 

“ The necessities of rhythm obliged me to curtail the 
word rustic or rusticity. Miss Vivian is strong enough to 
bear the truth from her most appreciative ally. May I not 
say so?^^ 

This, in a caressing tone and with a lingering glance. 

‘‘ Indeed you may! Any one can see I am a rustic, and 
will most probably always be a rustic,^-’ said Edith, answer- 
ing the first part of his speech with a good-humored smile. 
“ But I should be dull indeed if Mrs. Winington could not 
improve mel^^ 

Then the conversation became general, and plans were 
made for taking Miss Vivian to Windsor, and a dinner at 
Richmond. 

“ And what do you think of the theater?^ ^ asked Mait- 
land, who had drawn a chair beside Miss Vivian. 

‘‘ I like it better than anything else except the studio, 
and even better than that sometimes/^ she said earnestly. 
“ I can not sleep afterward, it seems so real to me; I think 
over it, and feel so glad the people are made happy at last. 
I have never seen a tragedy; I do not think I could bear 
one. 

“You had better realize the unreality of the drama be- 
fore you risk it, returned Maitland smihng. “ And how 
is Mrs. Miles? I trust she is better. 

“ I hope so— I think so; at least she does not complain 
in her letters; but she must be lonely and melancholy with- 
out me. But I shall go back to her when the studio 
closes. 

“ When may that be?” 

“ At the end of July.” 

“ And how are you getting on?” 


62 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


“ Slowly, very slowly; yet I have some hope I may draw 
pretty well yet. Will you come to the studio one day with 
Mr. Beaton? He is so kind; he often comes to bring me 
back in time for luncheon. Mrs. Winington always likes 
me to be back for luncheon. Is it not good of Mr. Bea- 
ton?^ ^ 

Very good, indeed, returned Maitland, while with 
eyes cast down he thought — “ He has made no impression 
as yet; her unconsciousness proves that.^^ “Then you 
must be very well employed; with art in the morning, and 
gadding about the rest of the day?^^ he added aloud. 

“ Mrs. Winington would make any one happy, and I 
never knew what it was to live before. I was happy 
enough, but only half awake. 

“ Then have you turned your back on the humdrum 
routine of country life forever?^ ^ 

“ No! I should not like to live quite as Mrs. Winington 
does. I like to go to bed when she goes out in the even- 
ing; but 1 love the theater and the picture-galleries and 
driving in the Park. Then every one is very good to me, 
only I do not always understand what they are talking 
about. I am never quite sure if they are in earnest. Of 
course I am very ignorant. I believe I should be happier 
in the country. I mean to have my home there. 

“ There is little that is home-like in London life,^-’ said 
Maitland; and after a pause he asked, “Who is the stout 
gentleman ?^^ 

“ He is a friend of Lady Mary^s; she brought him here 
a few days ago. He is a Mr. Brown, I think; but Lady 
Mary calls him by some funny name. He has lived a long 
time in China, I think, and he is very rich.'-’ 

“ What treason are you and Maitland hatching?" said 
Beaton, coming over to interrupt them. “ My sister sug- 
gests that we should all dine at the Healtheries this even- 
ing, and listen to the German band. Will you come, Mait- 
land?" 


BEATOK'S BAKGAIiq-. 


63 


‘‘Yes, you must," cried Mrs. AVinington. “We shall 
want three gentlemen; Colonel Winington dines out, and I 
shall be all unguarded if you will not come and take care 
of me.^^ 

Of course Maitland consented. 

It was a soft, clear, delicious night, and after a pleasant 
diuiier and much lively talk they strolled about the gar- 
dens; Beaton escorting Miss Vivian; Lady Mary, some- 
what to Maitland'^s surprise, pairing off with the China- 
man; while he himself fell to Mrs. Winington '’s share. 
How beautiful she looked in the moonlight, or when her 
large speaking eyes glittered in the gleam of the lamps! 
How brightly she talked! What subtle touches of tender- 
ness sounded through her lighter tone ! — and yet Maitland 
was unusually indifferent. His imagination would stray 
away after Edith Vivian and the man who had appropriat- 
ed her. Was he teaching her to love him, with the finished 
art of long experience? — and when he had won her heart, 
and annexed her money, how would he repay her? The 
sense of profoundest pity, of guilt even — for did not his 
knowledge of the whole scheme make him an accomplice? 
— oppressed liim, and he was powerless to assist her. She 
was so defenseless, so friendless! Why, it would be better 
for her to marry him. He would be a kind and loyal 
friend, though he could never love any other woman as he 
had the charming, dazzling creature whose hand lay on his 
arm, who half angered, half fascinated him. Even while 
he looked down into her appealing eyes, the recollection of 
Edith ^s, with their quiet, truthful, steadfast expression; the 
delicate simplicity of her manner; the interest of her pen- 
sive, changeful face, came back to him refreshingly, like 
the breeze from a field of new-mown hay over the heated 
atmosphere of a richly perfumed conservatory. 

Mrs. Winington^s voice recalled him. 

“Your judgment was the right one," she was saying. 
“ Your little protege is really very nice. Naturally a lady. 


64 


BEATON'S BAROAIN. 


but -SO frightfully neglected, she does not seem to take Les- 
lie's loye-maldng in and he is really most persevering. I 
think if she were a little responsive he would grow (juite 
fond of her. Keally men are so accustomed to be made 
love to now that — " she paused. 

“ It must be rather an agreeable change to do 
making one's self," said Maitland, laughing. ' ' ' 

‘‘ To men like you, yes! — but, joking apart, I am ■ 
interested in Miss Vivian. I never imagined I could like 
any other girl so much! She is not stupid by any means, 
but so strangely unconventional ! Her genuine admiration 
for me is very amusing, and extremely flattering. I wish 
Leslie could get on with her more quickly. I want them 
to be married before we go doAvn to Winford. Really, Les- 
lie is nearly at the utmost ends of his resources. " 

‘‘ And suppose Miss Vivian proves so unenlightened as 
not to appreciate Beaton?" 

Now, Jack" — with a deprecating glance, do not be 
a prophet of evil. She must marry him! Oh!" — inter- 
rupting herself — “here they are." The separated party 
had drifted together at the illuminated fountain. 

“ Dearest Jean," said Lady Mary, in an aside quite audi- 
ble to Maitland. “ I can not stand ‘ Go bang ' any longer! 
Do take him off my hands, and let me have a turn with 
your brother, otherwise you will see me a petrified corpse 
at your feet. " 

So for the rest of the evening Miss Vivian was in Mait- 
land's charge, and both felt that it was the better part. 


CHAPTER V. 

REPULSED. 

The days took to themselves wings — wings of pleasure, 
the less self-indulgent because reflned — and flew away with 
not surprising rapidity. Mrs. Winington was su- 


BEATON'S BAEGAIN. 


65 


premely content. It was no longer difficult to at- 
tract J ack Maitland to her house. He was ready to come 
on the lightest provocation. The slow-moving bill' on 
which he had so long w^aited, had at last been before the 
committee; he had given his evidence, and was free to re- 
turn, dp his native wilds — yet he lingered. 

..as still calm and undemonstrative, but Mrs. 

Islington knew him in the days when he had not acquired 
his present self-mastery, and could not believe that the old 
fire which once burned so strongly was qffite extinguished 
or exhausted, and she found an absorbing interest in the 
endeavor to rekindle the flame. Never had she been so 
generally kind and considerate. Edith thought her an 
angel disguised in a fashionable exterior. Her brother re- 
joiced in the spell of sunshine, though he had a shrewd idea 
why Jeanie was so deucedly amiable. While Maitland 
found his imagination less and less occupied with Mrs. 
Winiugton^s lovely, loving eyes; her smiling, kissable lips; 
and tlie sweet, half-playful, half-tender expressions that 
fell from them, other thoughts, other imaginings, replaced 
these. Yet, though he could not tear himself away, he was 
miserable, uneasy, self-reproachful. He watched with 
keenest perception every move in the game of which Edith 
Vivian was the unconscious prize. He saw too clearly the 
utter indifference which underlay Beaton^s attentions and ap- 
parent devotion; he fancied that some instinctive recog- 
nition of this was at the root of Miss Vivian’s easy, un- 
moved friendliness. For Beaton was a favorite with 
women, and what was there to guard that simple, untaught, 
trusting girl from his influence, but instinct? 

One question racked him by day and by night. Was he 
' bound by his knowledge of the facts to tell the true state of 
affairs to Miss Vivian, and so destroy Beaton’s chance? — or 
ought he to be loyal to the friend wdio had trusted him from 
the first? He could not answer it; yet he was convinced 
that the forlorn little heiress was gently floating down- 

3 


Beaton’s bargain. 


r>(5 

stream to her certain misery. She could never be satisfied 
with such a life as Mrs. Winington’s. She needed a real 
home to he a shelter from sun or storm; a husband who 
would go hand in hand with her through every step of life’s 
road; and what with self -tormenting and pity and perpetual 
watching. Jack Maitland soon grew to think there could not 
be a fairer lot than to be that husband. 

Though Miss Vivian was generally handed over to Bea- 
ton in the niany parties and expeditions organized by Mrs. 
Winington, Maiffand found opportunities for conversation 
more frequently than Mrs. AVinington noticed, and these 
confirmed him in his idea that Edith’s was no common nat- 
ure, nor was her geq^tleness in any way weak. There was 
something touching in the quiet preference she uncon- 
sciously showed him, and which completed her attraction, 
lie felt, without the slightest disrespect to her, that had he 
a fair field he might have won her heart and made her hap- 
pier than Leslie Beaton ever could. Her girlish curiosity 
and frank questioning about himself, his history, his peo- 
ple, half amused him. Had he both father and mother 
alive? — and sisters? — he was rich indeed! A mother must 
be so delightful! — some one who would always love you, 
even if you did wrong. ^‘^Mrs. AATnington was like a 
mother and elder sister in one; but,” added Edith looking 
down, I feel in an odd way that some time or other I 
shall pass out of her life, and she out of mine; the longer I 
know her, the more I see how unlike we are, and when she 
has time to see it too, she will not like to be bored.” 

At present you are a prime favorite, so let the morrow 
take care of itself,” returned Maitland; you are too natural 
and truthful to bore any one.” 

Do you think so? I am very glad ” — looking candidly 
into his face; and Maitland thought how charming it would 
be to see those eyes avoid his with the dawning conscious- 
ness of love— love for him only. 

Time, however, waits neither f ” men nor their wooing. 


EEATOK^S BARGAIIT. 


67 


and Beaton thought he had served long enough for his 
Rachel; so regardless of his sister^s warning not to be rash, 
and without her knowledge, he persuaded Miss Vivian to 
stay at home one afternoon in order to see some photo- 
graphs of Hungarian scenery, which afforded him an ex- 
cuse for a Ute-a-Ute ; and then to Edith^s immense sur- 
prise, with much fervor made her an offer of his hand and 
heart, his ancient name and high social position. 

When Mrs. Winington returned sooner than was ex- 
pected she found her brother pacing to and fro in deepest 
anger and despair. 

The ignorant little savage!” he exclaimed. I made 
the loveliest confession of my feelings you can imagine. 
It would have melted the heart of a — of a Calmuck, and 
the little fiend was simply surprised, confused, over- 
whelmed; yet she told me coolly she thought I had mis- 
taken my own feelings — that she was quite sure I liked 
Lady Mary better than I did herself! that she was too — 
too something or other to be my wife, and that she liked 
me so much she would rather marry some one else. ” 

‘‘ Well, Leslie, you are a greater fool than I took you for,” 
said his sister, frowning steridy. 

Could it be the same'face that looked up so tenderly in 
Jack Maitland ^s? 

“ You tried to shake the tree before the fruit was 
ripe, now you have lost the game. What do you intend 
to do?” 

^^To. do! Sow do you mean? I have acted on your 
instructions, and made an ass of myself to no purpose. I 
have scarcely a rap left, and Father Abraham, who ad- 
vanced me the last supply on the strength of having an 
heiress in tow, woiiT give me a sou more. By heaven, I 
shall lose my character if it is known that I have failed 
with the unsophisticated one.” 

^'You must not fail,” Mrs. Winington returned, '"I 
must repair your mistake; you shall not lose this little» 


BEATOI^’S BAKGAIIiT. 


G8 

simpleton. By your own idiotic rashness you will lose 
much valuable time. I wonder I have the patieaice to 
speak to you; you have been a trouble to us all your life, 
and you have nearly thrown away your last chance of re- 
lieving us of the burden. Noifi, you must be absolutely 
guided by me. ” 

If you explain your plans 1^11 try and take them in,” 
said Beaton, who was considerably crest-fallen. 

Very well. Leave Miss Vivian to me for the present. 
I will describe your broken-hearted condition, and rouse her 
compassion. There is a good deal to hope still from the 
fact that she accused you of liking Lady Mary better than 
you liked her.” 

She is not far wrong,” murmured Beaton. 

Do not be childish, Leslie. If you married Lady Mary 
you would hate each other, and be miserable in two months. ” 

I should have those two months, though.” 

Lady Mary has more sense,” continued Mrs. Wining- 
ton, not heeding him. You see, though it must be dis- 
tasteful to her, she has made up her mind to marry Mr. 
Brown. ” 

^^Ilas old ^Go bang ^ proposed?” nried Beaton, eagerly. 

I don^t know, and I doiiT care, I have enough to think 
of with your affairs and mismanagement. You must go 
out of sight somewhere; it will be the best and safest Avay 
to show your despair.” 

But, Jean, I can not stir without cash, and I tell you 
I haven't a farthing. You must get Wiiiington to shell 
out.” 

It would be of no use to ask him, and I would not do 
it if it were,” returned his sister, resolutely. ^^Winington 
has been very generous, but you have tried his patience too 
far. I don't think I could have had you so much here had 
he not believed you would marry Edith Vivian, aud free us 
from the burden of your maintenance. I want his help 


BEATON BARGAIN. 


69 


myself; I have gone far beyond my allowance; Madame 
Laure has sent me in a hideous bill. 

Then you must give me some cash yourself/^ said Bea- 
ton, indifferently. Look here” — he pulled a handful of 
gold, silver, and copper coins from his pocket — I have a 
couple of five-pound notes in my dressing-case besides, and 
that is all between me and destitution. If I run over to 
Paris, or down to Cowes, I must run up a hotel bill into 
the bargain. ” 

You shall not run over to Paris or Cowes, Leslie,” she 
interrupted; ^^you shall go down and bury your woes and 
yourself at Winford, and I will lend you your railway fare. ” 

Great heavens, Jean! — you are determined to make me 
repent my false stej). What on earth am I to do at Win- 
ford? I shall cut my throat.” 

Better do that than live on a beggerly gentleman,” 
cried Mrs. Winington. How any one can submit to pov- 
erty, when a shilling's worth of poison or an ounce of lead 
would deliver you, is incomprehensible to me. However, 
I donT mean to keep you long in exile; there is tolerable 
fishing. ” 

I hate fishing,” ejaculated Beaton. 

‘^^Old Mrs. Gubbins the housekeeper is a very fair cook, 
and you must write me despairing letters every day — that 
will occupy you. In a week or two I will bring our little 
startled fawn to hear reason, then you can come back and 
do exactly as I bid you. ” 

Very well; I suppose I may go and confess my sins to 
Lady Mary before I start.” 

It will do you no good.” 

Ought we to communicate with that old screw, Dar- 
gan?” 

‘^"I will think about it,” said Mrs. Winington, slowly. 

I may ultimately need his help; but if we tell him too 
soon it might set him on the lookout for some better spec 
than you have proved,” 


70 


BEATON BARGAIN. 


"" Ah! then I may leave Dargaii to you. x\ud I suppose 
you have no more to say?^^ 

No; and it would be a relief not to see you. I never 
was so angry with you before. Eealiy, Edith Vivian is a 
great deal too good for you; she has more sense. I suspect 
you have been betraying your absurd fancy for Lady Mary 
more recklessly than I imagine, to rouse Edith^s sus- 
picions. 

Not more recklessly than you have shown your absurd 
fancy for Jack Maitland. If I were Winington — 

You would be a better man than you are/^ interrupted 
Mrs. Winington, quietly; but her eyes darkened and she 
grew pale with anger — and not put evil constructions on 
a simple natural liking for an old friend. 

Beaton laughed aloud cynically. 

'‘^If you defy and irritate me,” said his sister, rising and 
standing erect before him, I shall give you up; hitherto 
I have been weak enough to care what became of you. If 
I turn against you, it will be an exceedingly bad day for 
you, Leslie Beaton. ” She opened her purse and threw him 
a couple of notes. I expect you to repay me, remember. 
Now go; I will write to Gubbins in time for post, and tell 
her to have luncheon ready for you at one to-morrow. 

You must get away by the 8.30 train in the morning.” 

She turned from him "with a look of contempt, and left 
the room. 

Leslie Beaton followed slowly, and bent his steps to the 
residence of Mrs. Hay, a severe and wealthy dow'ager, under 
whose rather oppressive protection Lady Mary, her daughter- 
in-law, thought fit for the present to abide. 

Mrs. Winington paused in her own sitting-room, and 
took up some notes and letters, glancing through them 
mechanically. I -will not speak to her yet,” she thought. 

Let her chew the cud of sweet and bitter reflection for 
awhile. What a misfortune to have two such idiots to deal 
with! Edith's utter ignorance of life, not to say society, 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


71 


prevents her from seeing that she could scarcely do better 
than marry Leslie. He would make a very tolerable sort of 
husband, and / could be of immense use to her. As to 
Leslie, his weakness is too contemptible. How did I come 
to have such a brother 

She wrote a few replies to the notes she had read, stopping 
now" and then to think, and descended to the carriage whicli 
all this time had been slowly driven to and fro by the 
exasperated but sedate coachman, whose patience was often 
tried by his whimsical and imperious mistress. 

Meantime Edith, much disturbed and bewildered, had 
flown away to her own room, and locking the door, sat 
down in the darkest corner she could find, trying to steady 
her thoughts after the extraordinary avowal to which she 
had just listened. Hei* most vivid impression was immense 
astonishment that any man should think of her as a wife, 
especially a man so clever and indiiferent to everything 
as Beaton appeared to be. Edith had a very humble oj)in- 
ion of herself; not that she was uneasy or self-conscious 
about her deficiencies — self did not trouble her in any way. 
She wanted to learn and to enjoy, to help where she could, 
and do what her hand found to do diligently. The fact of 
being an heiress had never penetrated to her understanding; 
she had never known what it was to have the command of 
money. Even Mrs. Miles, who was mysteriously in awe of 
her careful brother, never told her she was rich, only that 
she need not want for anything. Indeed, Mrs. Miles was 
kept very much in the dark herself; she was an honest, 
kindly, warm-hearted woman, somewhat indolent and in- 
ert. Edith consequently did a great deal more for her than 
she did for her young charge, and thus the girl grew up 
singularly unspoiled, and without tlie least idea that she 
was of importance to any one except Mrs. Miles. More- 
over, she thought herself too plain to be attractive when 
she- thought on the subject at all, which was perhaps never, 
until dress and adornment was forcecLon her notice by 


72 


BEATON^S BARGAIK. 


Mrs. Winington. When comparing herself with two such 
distinguished-looking women as Lady Mary Hay and her 
hostess, she decided that her own appearance was poor in- 
deed. 

Few girls had ever dreamed less of love and marriage. 
She had read few novels, and heard less gossip. There 
was really no one to gossip about at Littlemere. The 
lovers she had read about in Sir Walter Scott’s and Miss 
Ferrier’s stories interested her immensely; but if she ever 
applied the moral of the tales to herself, it was in the far- 
away future, when she had emerged from the very low 
mental status which she allowed herself. 

To be kind, considerate, prompt to do any one a service, 
seemed to Edith a natural and normal state of feeling, and 
she was too ignorant of life, as it works in the society into 
which she had drifted so curiously, to understand what was 
implied by the extraordinary exertion made by Beaton to 
meet her at the studio, to inspect her progress, and escort 
her home as he did two or three times a week. Such at- 
tentions from a man of Beaton’s style and standing would 
have fluttered all or any of the season’s debutantes, or even 
more experienced young ladies; while to Edith it seemed 
the simplest thing in the world that her guardian’s old 
friend, as she considered him, her dear, delightful Mrs. 
Winington’s brother, should take a kindly, perhaps pat- 
ronizing, interest in herself and her work. She was 
heartily obliged to Beaton, but slightly distrustful of him, 
because he seemed to mock at all things; and whenever she 
took in the drift of his compliments, and that they w^ere 
really meant for her, she was disposed to think he was 
laughing at her. 

When, therefore, he made an avowal of his ardent af- 
fection and profound desire to make her his wife, 
she was instinctively incredulous, and more frightened than 
pleased. Why should so graiid a gentleman want to marry 
an ignorant little girl, wEo was not even pretty? — it was 


BEATON’S BAKGAIN. 


73 


quite mcompreheusible ! Inexperienced as sbe was, she had 
caught the exiiression of his eyes from time to time as he 
looked at or spoke to Lady Mary; and nature, that marvel- 
ous instructress, told her he must be very fond of her at- 
tractive ladyship. Now all their pleasant, easy intercourse 
was at an end, and she .really liked Beaton. It would in- 
deed be painful to meet him and Mrs. Winington. What 
would she say? Edith felt rather than thought than it was 
quite possible Mrs. Winington could be very angry, and 
what more likely to anger her than finding her brother, to 
whom she was so much attached, and of whom, as it seemed 
to Edith, she was so proud, had proposed to a little coun- 
trified simpleton, which in itself was bad enough, and worse 
still that she had had the temerity to refuse him! What 
should she do if Mrs. Winington was cross and quarreled 
with her? Though by no means captivated by a life of 
restless excitement, she felt she could not go back to her 
former monotonous existence. And her guardians? What 
would Mr. Tilly say? Beaton had intimated that he had 
secured her guardian’s consent. Would every one be very 
angry? Then she wondered why she did not like to marry 
Mr. Beaton. It was curious, for he was nice and good- 
looking. Next, fancy suggested, ^^If Mr. Maitland had 
asked you to be his wife, would you have refused?” Con- 
science instantly answered, ^^No.” Of course. Tie would 
never think of asking her. He was far above, out of her 
reach. It was with no passionate burst of emotion that 
Edith recognized this; she was not in love with Maitland, 
or rather she did not know she was in love, and with a sigh 
of gentle regret she turned from the idea, blushing at her 
temerity. 

At last her maid tapped at the door to say that Mrs. 
Winington had come in, and wished to know if Miss 
Vivian would not have tea. 

No, thank you, I have a bad headache, and will lie 
down till dinner-time,” said Edith, beginning to realize the 


74 


beatok's bakgain. 


appalling trial before her in meeting Mrs. Winington^s 
keen eyes with such a secret weighing on her soul. 

Shall I bring you a cup of tea here, miss?^^ 

If you please,^' returned Edith, eager to be left alone; 
nor was she disturbed for a long time. 

Then Mrs. Winington broke in upon her, on the way 
from her dressing-room to the carriage and a solemn dinner- 
party. She rarely took her young protegee out with her in 
the evening, sarve to the theater or a concert. 

Is your head better, dear?"’"' she asked kindly, but to 
Edith^s anxious ear there was unusual gravity, almost sad- 
ness, in her tone. 

Oh, yes! certainly better." 

I have brought you the new ^ Cornhill,^ if you are able 
to read. Try and eat some dinner or supper, and get to 
bed early; I hope to find you quite well to-morrow morn- 
ing. Good-night, dear. " 

A gentle kiss, accompanied by a sigh, and Mrs. Wining- 
ton was gone. 

Edith seldom saw her hostess in the morning before she 
went to the studio, where she worked steadily, in spite of 
the distractions which surrounded her, and where, perhaps, 
she was happiest. Her uneasiness 'and fearful looking 
forward to the meeting that awaited her was prolonged, 
after a disturbed night, through the hours that preceded 
luncheon. 

Beaton had disappeared; only the well-dressed, self-p)os- 
sessed young person who deigned to be her attendant came 
to escort her back. This was no small relief. 

At luncheon there was only Mrs. Winington, who re- 
ceived her kindly, but with a subdued and pensive air. 

You must have communicated your headache to me, 
Edith," she said, after they had exchanged greetings. I 
feel quite good for nothing; I shall not be at home to any 
one, and at five we will take a drive " far from the madding 


BEATON BARGAIN. 


75 


crowd. ^ ■There are a few people coming to dinner, and I 
must brace myself for my duties. ” 

^^It will be very pleasant/" said Edith, scarcely daring to 
look up, yet thankful to find that Mrs. Winington was not 
cross. 

Luncheon was soon dispatched; Edith could hardly eat a 
morsel. 

‘■‘'It is a farce your sitting down to table,"" said her host- 
ess. You are looking pale, too, dear. You must really 
see Doctor Tweddell. He is the great man for nerves now, 
and your nerves are all wrong, I am sure. "" 

I think I do feel nervous,"" faltered Edith. 

Come with me; we will repose ourselves in my room, 
and have a nice long talk. "" 

Edith followed her as if to execution. 

Mrs. Winington"s private room was a delightful apart- 
ment on the second floor, with a large corner window com- 
manding the gardens in the rear, and a glimpse of Hyde 
Park; simply though most comfortably furnished, and 
adorned with a few good jiictures, a statuette or two, and 
abundant flowers in choice china bowls and vases. It was 
deliciously cool and fresh; the roar of the streets came to 
them softened into a mellow under-tone, deepening the 
sense of restfulness by the suggestion of the noise and 
struggle without. 

It is certainly delightful to be quiet sometimes,"" said 
Mrs. Winington, sinking into a chair beside the open win- 
dow, and pointing to one opposite, where the light would 
fall upon Edith, who obediently took the seat indicated. 

I know you have a great deal to tell me, a great deal 
you ought to tell me,"" began Mrs. Winington, slowly fan- 
ning herself with a large Japanese fan: but it is difli- 
cult to begin, so I am going to help you. My brother has 
told me that you refused him, and I am awfully sorry 
about it all. "" 

So am I,"" said Edith, coloring, and pressing her hands 


76 


BEATON^S BARGAIN'. 


tightly together, her usual tranquil composure melting 
away under Mrs. Winington^s searching eyes. have 

been dreadfully distressed, and so afraid you would be an- 
gry with me. 

Angry with you! Why should I be angry? Grieved and 
disappointed, I own, but not angry! In such a serious 
matter you have the right to do what you think best. But 
I aril, of course, very, very sorry for poor Leslie! You 
seemed to like him, you know, and perhaps unconsciously 
misled him.''^ 

But, Mrs. Winington, dear Mrs. AVinington,^^ imjDlor- 
ingly, ‘^1 did, I do like him; only I never dreamed he 
would think of marrying me! I am sure yoti did not.^^ 

I did not think it, because I knew some weeks ago that 
he ardently desired to make you his wife. 

And you were not vexed? you did not think him fool- 
ish ?^^ cried E<^th, in increasing astonishment. 

No, dearl Listen to me, Edith. I suppose I seem 
to you too worldly and hard to appreciate a sim- 
ple original character? I am worldly. I have hard 
edges here and there, but where I take a liking I am 
steady, for I do not adopt any one on a mere whim. 
Now there is much in you that would be of infinite use to 
my brother. He took to you at once and that is an unusual 
thing for him. He has a most warm heart, though I ac- 
knowledge he has been far from steady, but that is past 
and gone now. I looked to his marriage with you to com- 
plete his life and character. I am therefore wof ully ’ dis- 
appointed when my pretty little castle in the air crumbled 
.at the touch of your cruel fingers.” 

Edith did not answer for a moment, she was so over- 
whelmed with a sense of her own guilt. 

You are too good, too indulgent to me,” she said at 
length, brokenly. ^"1 scarcely believed Mr. Beaton could 
be in earnest. I do not think I could ever feel quite at 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


77 


home with him., and I fancied lie was very fond of Lady 
Mary Hay, which seemed much more natural. ” 

“ Of Lady Mary?” echoed Mrs. Winington. How 
very absurd ! They are very old friends, and in a sense he 
is very fond of her; but when I tell you that he was rejoic- 
ing the day before yesterday at the prospect of her making 
a good marriage, you may imagine the kind of fondness he 
feels for her. ” 

There was a pause. 

My greatest regret,” began Edith again, 'Ms to have 
disappointed you in any way. You have done so much 
for me, and I love you, indeed I do. ” 

The color rose brightly in her cheeks, and her quiet 
truthful eyes looked into Mrs. Winington^s with such pa- 
thetic earnestness that she was touched, and she thought 
that real hearty love and belief were worth deserving, even 
from an obscure little country girl. But she repressed 
sentimental weakness at once. 

" I hope you care for me a little, Edith. I think I deserve 
it from you. * But not so much as Leslie. Could you have 
seen him yesterday, I think you would have been sorry for 
him. He was so broken-hearted, and struggled so bravely 
to control himself! 'Whatever happens, Jean,^ he said, 

' do not worry Edith, do not in any way resent my disap- 
pointment. You see, he knows how fond I am of him. 
He talks of joining a friend of his who is going to make an 
exploring expedition to Tartary, or Thibet, or Timbuctoo, 
but I earnestly hope he will not. Though his general 
health is good, he could not stand the hardships of such 
an undertaking. Indeed I did not believe that Leslie 
could have felt anything so intensely; he was as white as a 
sheet.” Mrs. Winington fanned herself vehemently, as if 
much moved. 

Edith's eyes grew larger and larger as she listened, her 
sense of the evil she had wrought deepened, and her in- 


78 


BEATOK^S BAEGAIN. 


stiiictive incredulity vanished before the gravity of Mrs. 
Winington^s looks and tones. 

To doubt a syllable of what that incomparable personage 
asserted never crossed her mind, still it was most incompre- 
hensible. Yet the image conjured up by Mrs. Winington^s 
description atfected her deeply. She trembled, and the 
tears rose to her eyes. 

I wish I had never come to be a trouble to you!^^ she 
sobbed. What a return this is for all your goodness, and 
Mr. Beaton's goodness! I am very grateful to him for car- 
ing so much about me, but — " 

Oh, I suppose he could not help interrupted 

Mrs. Winington, with a sad smile. I know that ‘some 
little time ago he explained his intentions fully to your 
guardians, and secured their full consent, so that no diffi- 
culty should occur in case he could win yours." 

^^What shall I do? what shall I do?" said Edith, un- 
consciously aloud. 

Are you in earnest when you ask what you shall do? 
Edith?" asked Mrs. Winington; and will you believe that 
T am disinterested in the advice I offer?" 

Believe you 9 Of course I believe you thoroughly!" 

Then let matters stand as they are. Poor Leslie has 
run away to bury himself in solitude. I begged him to go 
down to AV inford, for I know my old housekeeper will take 
care of him. You need not meet for some little time. 
Think well if you have done wisely in rejecting the warm 
heart so freely offered to you ; think of the charming home, 
your united means might create. AVith my brother you 
would do exactly as you liked; he has the happiest temper. 
Then my friendship and help in the little social minutiae of 
which you would be unavoidably ignorant, counts for some- 
thing. Tliere, I will not allow myself to speak more. I 
would not for worlds overpersuade you. But, for your own 
sake, do not throw my brother over without some consider- 


BEATON'S BAliGATN. 


79 


ation. Of course it is very likely lie may not come near us 
again while you are here. But should he do so — " 

She paused, and poor Edith, who felt as if some invisible 
net was closing round her, urged, timidly: 

I suppose one ought to like the man 5^011 marry very 
much?" 

You should certainly not cZMike him! But why do 
you not like Leslie? Do you love any one else?" with a 
sudden, almost fiercely questioning glance. 

How could I? Whom do I know to love?" asked 
Edith, timidly. 

Very true! Moreover, it does not follow that because 
I think my brother the dearest fellow in the world, he 
must be irresistible to every one. There, I really think we 
have exhausted the subject, and you have made your eyes 
red. Go and bathe them, dear, and do not be unhap2:)y; I 
shall always be your friend. " 

Ah! do, do be my friend — I have so few;" and Edith 
ventured to pass her arm through Mrs. AYiningtoii's, and 
to press her brow against her shoulder, with more of a 
caress than she had ever dared before. 

Oh, rest tranquil, my dear girl. I am very loyal." 
Edith hurried away, and Mrs. Winington, rising to fetch 
a French novel from the table, looked after her with a 
slight sigh. 

She is a nice little thing, and I do hope, when I have 
done Leslie's love-making successfully for him, he will not 
neglect her too openly, and spend her money too freely; I 
will see that tied up safely at any rate!" 


CHAPTER VI. 

MANEUV EKING. 

While Mrs. Winington fulfilled her diplomatic mission, 
Jack Maitland had been reasoning with himself against his 
own weakness in yielding to his strong inclination to prolong 


80 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


his stay within Mrs. Winington's charmed circle. He could 
in no way help Edith, he told himself, and each day they 
met only increased his miserable anxiety and indecision. 

However keen her natural perception of truth and reality, 
so accomplished a man of the world as Beaton would end 
by convincing her that he was worthy all trust and affection. 
So he mused as he was returning from an expedition to 
Hampton Court with his New Zealand friends, who had 
complained loudly that they never saw anything of him, 
that he had quite cut them, etc., etc. 

I must dine at the Winingtons to-night," he thought, 
when, having seen his companions into a cab, he was walk- 
ing slowly toward Waterloo Bridge, ^^but I will get away 
home on Saturday. I am making a fool of myself here. " 

On reaching his hotel, however, he found a letter which 
compelled even an earlier start. It was from Major Mait- 
land, informing him that his mother had taken a chill, and 
had been attacked with severe bronchitis; that although 
there was no very immediate danger, it would be well if he 
could return home at once. Maitland was startled, some- 
thing in the tone of the communication alarmed him. 

Mrs. Maitland was a gentle, fragile woman. When her 
younger son was in disgrace with all the world she had 
clung to him, and written to him, and scraped small gifts 
of money out of her very narrow house allowance to help 
him in his hour of need. This Jack never forgot. He 
loved his mother with all the strength of his steady heart. 
He knew that his father, although considered a model hus- 
band, was tyrannical and unsympathetic. He would no 
doubt bitterly lament his loss, were his wife to be taken 
from him, and canonize her in his memory, but in the 
meantime he never entered into her thoughts or feelings, 
or considered the needs of her inner nature. Her daughters 
were married, and provided with cares of their own, and 
J ack well knew the loneliness of the patient little woman 
when he was not with her. 


Beaton’s bargain. 


81 


There was time enough to eat a morsel of dinner, pay his 
bill, and start by the 8:30 train from King’s Cross. He 
could thus reach home by noon next day, and he was de- 
termined not to leave it till he saw his mother restored to 
her ordinary health. He wrote a hasty line of excuse to 
Mrs. Winington, and with a heavy heart, both for the cares 
he was leaving behind and those he was going to meet, was 
soon speeding northward as fast as steam could take them. 

Mrs. Winington’s dinner was less lively than usual. 
Colonel Winington had insisted on inviting two tiresome 
constituents who did not know how to talk, and Maitland 
was absent; so was Edith, to whom her hostess had said 
kindly as they returned from their drive, I dare say, dear, 
you would rather lie down and rest, or get into your dress- 
ing-gown and read a novel, than put on evening costume 
and sit down to dinner.” 

Yes, I should greatly prefer it. I want to write to 
Mrs. Miles too. I did not send her a letter yesterday, and 
I rarely miss doing so on Wednesday. I know she always 
looks for one.” 

Edith stayed very contentedly in her room. She pon- 
dered long and deeply on all Mrs. Winington had said, and 
wished, oh, so ardently, that she could please every one 
by accepting Beaton. Why did she not love him? Perhaps 
she would grow to like him by and by. If she dared speak 
to Mr. Maitland about it! But that was not to be dreamed 
of; she blushed at the idea. 

Colonel Winington, who had been always friendly to his 
wife’s quiet little protegee, inquired the reason of her absence, 
and expressed a hope that all was going on well between her 
and Beaton. 

Oh, as well as can be expected,” returned his wife, 
laughing. She is a good little simpleton and not too 
ready to take up an idea. ” 

I don’t find her dull by any means,” said Colonel Win- 
ington. "'It is quite a relief to meet any one who does 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


83 

not aim at talking epigrams. Now I must bid you good- 
niglit, Lady Mary, if I may not escort you home. ” 

The company had by this time dispersed, and the colonel 
was going to look in at the House, which was a sort of 
club to him. 

No, thank you. Good-night. Are you going to make 
a speech?” 

No, no. I only express my opinions by my votes.” 

The best way, I imagine,” said Lady Mary as he left 
the room. He is really a good fellow, Jean. You are a 
lucky woman. ” 

I dare say I am. Now do stay and let me talk to you. 
I want to hear what Leslie said yesterday. I hope you 
scolded him for his folly, his rashness.” 

Your brother certainly came to pour his sorrows into 
my sympathizing bosom,” said Lady Mary. But I con- 
fess my warmest sympathy has been excited by his being 
obliged to marry such a noodle. She will bore him to death. 
But there, it seems if he does not marry her he may starve 
to death; it is a desperate alternative.” 

. My dear, you did not set him against my poor, rich 
little protegee? He is rather infatuated about you, but that 
is, you know, of no use.” 

I regret to say it is of no use, for I find your brother 
very nice, and most amusing. AVhat an idiot Miss Vivian 
is to refuse him!” 

Yes. I fancied it would have been a case of ^ I came — 
I saw — I conquered,'’ with Leslie and Edith Vivian. I can 
not understand her indifference. ” 

Well, I think I do,” remarked Lady Mary dryly, as she 
arranged the fiowers that adorned her dress. 

You do? Why, what do you mean? What are you hint- 
ing at?” cried Mrs. Winington eagerly. 

I think, Jean, you are quite as foolish and a good deal 
blinder than your brother. Edith Vivian does not care for 


BE ATONES BARGAIN’. 


83 


Mr. Beaton, because she has already fallen in love with that 
interesting companion of your childhood. ” 

‘^You can not believe such an absurdity,” cried Mrs. 
Wmington, flushing from throat to brow. Why, I never 
thought of such a thing. ” 

That I quite believe,^'’ significantly. ^‘1 am a quiet, 
indolent creature, I let others do the talking, but I see a 
good deal. Your brother has been taken up with me, you 
have been taken up with your rather faronche friend, and 
I have watched you all. ” 

And what have you seen?” asked Mrs. Winington in a 
low tone, keeping her eyes carefully cast down. 

^‘1 have seen Mis^ Vivian^s face; whenever Mr. Maitland 
appears it lights U23 in the most wonderful way. I donT 
think the little goose is the least conscious of her own feel- 
ings, she does not make the slightest attempt to conceal her 
gladness. I protest she warms up into absolute prettiness 
as soon as he comes. Now she distrusts Mr. Beaton, she is 
half afraid of him. ” 

But how preposterous of her to throw away her pale 
fancies on Jack Maitland, who scarcely notices her.” 

Ah! are you sure he does not? My impression is, that 
not a look, not a word of hers escapes him. ” 

Come, come, this is more than observation; it is creat- 
ive power. ” 

Lady Mary shook her head. ‘‘ Your friend has very ex- 
2 ^ressive eyes, as I dare say you know, and they have told 
me more than he imagines. I have seen them dwell on 
your intended sister-in-law with a look such as no man 
ever bestowed except on the woman he loved. I am dis- 
posed to tliink he is considerably further gone than she is.” 

It is impossible,” said Mrs. Winington, in a low deep 
tone. 

^^Oh, if you like to think so. Just look back over the 
last four or five Aveeks. How much more he has been at 
your house since Edith Vivian Avent into training under 


84 


BEATON^S BARGAIN'. 


your supervision. Remember that dinner at the Orleans 
Club, our expedition to Kew. Maitland had a good half 
hour^s practical tete-a-tete with her at both places; indeed it 
might have been longer at Richmond, had I not been dis- 
interested enough to send Mr. Beaton to break it up. 

Mrs. Winington was silent for a few moments, her rich 
color fading away, and then said with an etfort: 

I do not think Jack would try to cut out Leslie. 

Perhaps. But once a man is in love I should not give 
much for his good resolutions.” 

Really, dear, you don^t seem to believe there is such a 
thing as principle.” 

Oh, yes, I do; but, as the railway people say of their 
iron girders, it is only as strong as its weakest part. Your 
first love looks solemn and resolute enough, but I suppose 
he is no stronger than his neighbors. Yoit know all about 
that, no doubt, much better than any one else. ” 

There is some difference between a boy and a man. At 
any rate Maitland is far away, or will be far away to-mor- 
row. He has been recalled to Craigrothie by his mother^s 
illness. ” 

Well, keep him at a distance,” said Lady Mary, rising; 
^'it will be better for all parties. I must leave you 
now, for I promised to call for Mr. Brown at his club, and 
take him to Lady Carrington^s ball — the dear old man has 
a romantic love for titles.” 

I hope affairs are progressing smoothly between you 
and the great ' Go-bang ^ V ^ 

Yes, satisfactorily; so much so, that 1 almost regret I 
bestowed that very appropriate nickname. I am afraid it 
will stick, but perhaps when I have cured him of boasting 
it may die away. Good-night, Jean; are you going to bed 
like a sober citizen?” 

‘^lam. I have had a horrid headache all day. This 
worry about Leslie has upset me. ” 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN'. 


85 


They exchanged adieus, and the observant Lady Mary 
went down to her carriage, while Mrs. Winington rang and 
ordered the lights to be extinguished in the reception- 
rooms, and then went rapidly to her own. 

As soon as she could dispense with her maid she dis- 
missed her, and threw herself into a large chair to think — 
to review Lady Mary^s horrible suggestions. 

Had she been so fooled and blinded as to rejoice in the 
frequent lingering visits which were due to another's at- 
tractions? Was the secret of that indifference she so fondly 
hoped would warm into something of the old ardor to be 
found in awakening love for that colorless, insignificant 
chit whom she had loaded with kindness, and really liked? 
What a nemesis! The more she strove to reject the idea, 
the more corroborative trifles rose in her memory to indorse 
Lady Mary’s revolting suspicions. 

It was bitter, very bitter, to the proud, passionate woman, 
who best knew what advances she had made to a man who, 
she began reluctantly to believe, was shielded by that 
strongest armor, affection for another. Nothing could be 
more maddening. She had been puzzled by the contradic- 
tion between his readiness to spend hours with her, and his 
increasing coldness. It was all too evident. She did not 
know till now how he had absorbed her. She meant no 
harm, she told herself; only once more to catch an echo of 
the real, ardent love which had cast its spell upon her 
youth, and which she longed for amid the frothy imitations 
of the rollicking, frivolous world in which she lived, and 
moved, and had her being. It was wrong and bad, but she 
could not restrain a fit of angry, passionate weeping when 
she thought of the past, and how cruelly the present re- 
venged it. Yet she never for an instant regretted her own 
heartless conduct. To be poor, and necessarily self-deny- 
ing, was something not to be thought of for her, although 
she was prepared to pay dear for certain joys. To see 
Maitland once more at her feet, to tell him she loved him. 


86 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


and bid him leave her forever, this would be joy ! But, if 
he ever got this length, would he go? 

Ah, well, there was no use thinking about it. What 
needed her whole force of mind and resolution, was to ac- 
complish her brother'^s marriage with Edith Vivian. 

She shall be his wife within six weeks,” she muttered, 
rising from the cushions where she had writhed in impotent 
rage. "" She shall be safely out of Maitland's reach long 
before they meet again. ” 

She bathed her swollen eyes, and leaned from the open 
window to cool her burning forehead. 

At length the rallying power of a fixed resolution calmed 
her. She turned to her writing-table, drew a chair, and 
after a minute's thought wrote a carefully worded letter to 
Jack Maitland — a charming, sympathetic epistle, which 
Colonel Winington might have read with perfect impunity. 
Nothing could be more tenderly graceful than her expres- 
sions of interest in Mrs. Maitland, her regret for his anxiety, 
her own eagerness for news of the patient. Then she 
paused undecided. She was burning to describe, in smoothly 
flowing periods, the rapid growth of mutual understanding 
between Miss Vivian and Beaton, the evident adoration of 
the simple child of nature for the accomplished man of 
fashion. She thought how she might best charge her com- 
munication with the venom which distorted her own mind. 
But she was purposeful enough to restrain the promptings 
of unreasoning spite. In such a letter it was out of place 
to introduce Edith Vivian's name, and such unnecessary 
information might rouse doubts which she should be the 
last to suggest, if she really meant to carry out her schemes; 
and carry them out she would, cost what they might in 
lying or intrigue. 

Mrs. Winington resumed her pen, and battening dowui 
the useless vengeance that raged for utterance until a more 
convenient season, concluded her letter with a kindly mes- 


BEATON BARGAIN. 


87 


siige from her brother, which would convey the impression 
that he was at her elbow. 

A fully detailed account of all that had happened since 
he had left her was next addressed to her brother accom- 
panied by much shrewd advice. And then, completely re- 
stored to composure, and firmly resolved to play her game 
with tact and temper, Mrs. Winington extinguished her 
ight, and tried successfully to sleej). 

**%*:!«** 

There is wonderful power in a clear and thoroughly 
adopted decision. No energy is wasted in answering f)aralyz- 
ing doubts and queries as to the advisability of some other 
line of conduct; with a distinctly visible object ahead, it is 
comparatively easy to shape one^s course. 

Mrs. Winington was afflicted with few scruples. Her own 
desires, her own ambitions, were the ends at which she 
aimed. But being a healthy, fairly well-tempered woman, 
on very good terms with herself she never quarreled about 
trifles, and could gracefully give up what she did not care 
much about. Intensely perceptive of what she really 
wanted, she always reserved her forces for occasions worthy 
of them. The succeeding twenty-four hours she devoted to 
masterly inactivity. 

Though kind and gentle with Edith to a degree that 
woke the keenest stings of self-reproach in that young 
woman^s breast, she was so much engaged that she was 
reluctantly compelled to leave her a good deal to herself. 

Edith longed to solace her depressed spirit by writing a 
full and true history of the trial through which she had 
passed to Mrs. Miles, but she had a deep impression that 
it would be disloyal to Mrs. Winington, as well as to 
Beaton, if she told the story of her rejection of the latter. 
She was in truth rather miserable. The fact of her ex- 
treme loneliness was borne in upon her with telling force. 
Her eyes had been opened as they never had been before. 
New needs had sprung up. She could not go back to thq 


88 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


bare existence she had led before she met Beaton and his 
sister. Her tastes were quiet enough^ but her eyes had been 
opened, and warmly as she still loved her kind old friend 
Mrs. Miles, she felt that life would indeed be dreary had 
she no other companionship. 

Mrs. Winington saw with much satisfaction the pale, 
pensive little face of her young friend grow paler and 
sadder. She took no notice of the remarkable fact that for 
three days Maitland had not appeared at luncheon, tea, or 
dinner. This silence was, in Mrs. Winington’s opinion, a 
bad symptom, and she determined to break it by a bold and 
masterly stroke. 

Beaton had followed his sister’s instructions, and duly 
sent her letters of the most lugubrious description yet natur- 
ally written — his dramatic instincts, which made him a price- 
less jewel in country-houses when theatricals were being 
organized, suggesting the most characteristic modes of ex- 
pression. A separate slip generally accompanied this effu- 
sion, in which he implored his recall from banishment, and 
vowed the most abject obedience to his sister’s commands. 
He quite agreed with Lady Mary’s view of Jack Maitland’s 
mental condition, and urged Mrs. Winington not to let him 
be cut out by that clumsy colonist. 

I forgot to tell you that Mr. Maitland has been sum- 
moned away, his mother is dangerously ill,” said Mrs. Win- 
ington to Edith, as they sat together in the drawing-room, 
the various hah Hues who had dropped in to afternoon tea 
having departed, and left the patroness and her protegee to 
a rare tete-a-tete. 

I am very sorry,” exclaimed Edith, laying down an 
illustrated paper she had just taken. He is very fond of 
his mother.” 

I did not think you knew he had a mother,” said Mrs. 
Winington, sharply. 

He has spoken of her to me sometimes,” said Edith^^ 
innocently, quite unembarrassed. 


BEATOF'S BARGAIET. 


89 


She is a charming lady. I was going to say ' old lady/ 
but in spite of her white hair there is a perennial youth 
about her that is quite delightful. I like Jack Maitland 
very much too. He used to be such a good fellow, but I 
was not quite pleased with him the other day.^^ 

Indeed.” 

There was not any violent curiosity in the tone. 

Ho,” continued Mrs. Winington, thoughtfully; was 
vexed with him. I thought him too manly for that sort of 
self-conceit. Perhaps I ought not to tell you, but it may 
be useful as a warning not to trust appearances.” She 
paused, and Edith looked at her in great surprise. We 
W’ere talking of his leaving town,” she resumed, and he 
said, with his grave smile, ^ On one account I shall not be 
sorry to leave; your little friend is so unsophisticated, that 
she shows her flattering preference for me in the most un- 
mistakable manner. It would really be touching were it 
not so funny, and I am not disposed to fall in love in 
return. ^ ” 

There was a moment^s silence. The color rose slowly in 
Edith’s cheeks, as if shame and mortification were gradually 
penetrating her soul. Though she did not dream of doubt- 
ing Mrs. Winington, she half unconsciously exclaimed — 

He could not have said that.” 

Oh, if you imagine I invented the amiable speech — ” 

^‘^Ho, no; Ido not, but it seems impossible. I found 
him so kind and — and sensible. I did like him, and like 
to talk to him, but I am not in love with him. I know I 
am not. You do not believe I should let myself love a man 
who does not care about me — do you, Mrs. Winington?” 

I should be sorry to believe you so — so unmaidenly,” 
said Mrs. Winington, with emphasis. 

Indeed — indeed I am not. I am more grieved and 
disappointed than I can say, to think Mr. Maitland could 
speak of me in such a way. It is unworthy of him.” 

So I think, and so I told him,” said Mrs. Winington. 


90 


BEATOK’s BARGAIN'. 


Are you quite sure he meant me persisted Edith. 

My dear, do you fancy I would be so idiotic as to make 
a mistake in such a matter? Believe me, tlie conceit and 
vanity of men are unfathomable. I did expect better 
things from Jack Maitland, but it seems he is no better 
than the rest. I must say, though, my brother gives him- 
self no superior airs, and pretends to be nothing more than 
a pleasant, easy-going gentleman. He would never talk of 
a woman in that strain. Though it is rather a breach of 
confidence, I am almost tempted to show you the two let- 
ters he has written me since you banished him. 

Perhaps Mr. Beaton might not like me to see them,” 
said Edith, shrinking back, all quivering, from the cruel 
blow just dealt her. 

He need never know. Do read them, Edith. I should 
like you to see the sort of nature you have rejected.” 

With considerable assistance from Mrs. Winington, for 
Beaton^s writing was exceedingly wild, Edith read the effu- 
sions, which were admirably composed, easy, natural, full 
of veiled sadness, tender; even passionate here and there in 
his expressions as regarded herself, and touching in their 
entreaties to his sister not to withdraw her friendshqi and. 
protection from the little darling who seemed to have no 
one to care for and watch over her. 

Grant a full belief in the truth and sincerity of every on^ 
about her, and no girl could have read such letters unmoved. 
Edith folded them up and returned them to Mrs. Wining- 
ton with trembling hands and quivermg lips. 

He is too good. Ido not desire that he should think 
so much of me. I feel quite angry with myself for not lov- 
ing him. But I am very young, Mrs. Winington; need I 
marry any one just yet? I doiiT feel as if I were fit to be 
any man’s companion.” 

My dear Edith, M^ere you any one else I should accuse 
you of mock modesty.” 


beatok's bargain. 


91 


No, I am not so modest as you fancy. I know that in 
many ways I am not unworthy of being loved, but I am 
very ignorant. I want to learn so much to be at all equal 
to you, and Lady Mary, and — and Mr. Bsaton.” Mait- 
land^s name was on her lips, but she checked herself in 
time. I can not even know how to behave myself, or — 
or Mr. Maitland would never have spoken so contemptu- 
ously, so cruelly of me,^^ and she burst into a passionate 
flood of tears, so 23assionate that Mrs. Winington was amazed. 
She did not imagine there was such fire under her prot6gee^s 
quiet exterior. 

Dear Edith, dear child, cried Mrs. Winington, de- 
lighted at the success of her scheme, yet not unmoved by 
the sight of her distress. She rose, and drawing the weep- 
ing girl to the sofa, put her arms round her affectionately. 

You take a mere trifle far too much to heart. The boast- 
ing of an inexperienced man, for Jack Maitland really 
knows nothing of society, is not worth a moment^s thought. 
You donT suppose I am influenced by his absurd speech? 
I saw nothing whatever to remark in your manner. You 
are naturally well-bred. I love your candor, your refresh- 
ing simplicity. Pray put these tiresome men out of your 
head, donT think even of poor Leslie. I want to see you 
bright again. Go bathe your eyes. Nothing will draw you 
out of yourself like pictures, and there are one or two 
'vonderful pictures by a Bavarian artist at Oolnaglie^s. Let 
IS go and look at them. Trust me, dear, I will always be 
your friend. 

Mrs. Winington had quick surface sympathies, which, 
nevertheless, never interfered with the ultimate carrying 
out of her personal views, but which for the moment im- 
posed even upon herself, and made her infinitely danger- 
ous. 

EditlPs heart thrilled with warmest gratitude as she 
pressed her poor trembling lips to the soft smiling mouth 
of the beautiful superior being who deigned to love her. 


92 


BEATON^S BAKGAIl^. 


But even Mrs. Winington^s boundless condescension 
could not console her. 

• Besides her personal mortification, there was the anguish 
of seeing her ideal shattered, of finding that the image of 
gold had feet of clay. Moreover, she recognized with a 
keen sense of degradation that Maitland was right. She 
loved him, or was on the verge of loving him. She felt in 
her inmost soul that had he been in Beaton^s place her an- 
swer would have been different; that her doubts of her own 
fitness, although she might have entertained them, would 
not have presented an insurmountable barrier to'her assum- 
ing the responsibilities of matrimony. 

But that was all over now, she must forget her own folly 
and credulity, and try to be worthy of the friendship so 
generously bestowed on her. Indeed she was almost dis- 
posed to think she ought to marry Beaton out of gratitude 
to his queenly sister. 

While Edith strove to gain composure, and efface the 
signs of her usual emotion, Mrs. Winington penned a hasty 
but encouraging letter to Leslie. 

am really proud pf myself, she wrote. [ have 
made most dexterous use of a hint from Lady Mary, and 
dealt poor Edith^s self-love a fatal blow, from which it 
must be your business to restore her. She is already dis- 
posed to regard you with a sort of grateful kindness which 
may lead to better things. I suspect Maitland has been — 
knowingly or not, who can tell — a bit of a traitor. You 
must, if possible, be married before he comes to the front 
again. Be ready to start on receipt of a telegram from me. 
You will find directions at your old quarters. Your letters 
do you credit; continue them, and never forget all you owe 
to your very much worried sister, Jean. P.S. — Let me 
have the guardian^s address by return — I mean Dargan^s. 
I may want to see him.” 

The second post brought another epistle to the exile, who 
was growing intolerably weary of his enforced sohtude. 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


93 


I don't like you to hear from any one but myself that 
I accepted Go-bang last night. Let us call him ^ Stan- 
ley Brown' in future. I find that the S. on his cards 
means Stanley. His father, it seems, named him after his 
landlord. Curious that with his proclivities he should not 
have used it before t?i extenso. Of course the crucial test 
of settlements is to come. Heaven grant the alliance may 
not prove a penal settlement. I think, however, all will 
go right, and I must say it will be an immense relief to have 
a house of my own. You would find it the same. Pray 
make haste and marry your little field-fiower, and then we 
may choose abodes within easy range of each other. I in- 
tend to be great friends with Mrs. Leslie Beaton, and I sus- 
pect we shall need the support of each other^s sympathy. 
Could you not steal a march on your imperious sister, and 
come up incog, for twenty-four hours? I feel as if a long 
talk with you would do me good, for somehow I have been 
so disgracefully weak as to cry over the general ^ cussed- 
ness ' of things. 

Yours as ever, Mary H." 


CHAPTER VII. 

MRS. WININGTON SCORES. 

Mrs. Maitland was in a very critical condition when 
her son reached Craigrothie. The doctor in attendance had 
wrestled with the disease successfully, but feared the weak- 
ness which ensued might do death's bidding as effectually^ 
as his more active emissary. 

It was not until she had been carefully prepared that the 
sufferer was allowed to see her son. He was profoundly 
moved at the sight of the pale, delicate face with its silvery 
hair lying so helplessly on the pillow. His mother could 
only smile faintly as he bent over her and took her thin, 
nearly transparent hand in his, with Infinite tenderness. 
Neither spoke. 

Maitland could not for a few minutes trust his voice. He 
knew the loneliness of her life; She was a creature of finer 


94 


beatok’s bargain-. 


and more sensitive organization tlian those among whom 
she had been fated to pass the larger part of her existence. 
Needing warmth and sunshine, she had been transplanted 
to the cold soil, the easterly atmosphere of Major Mait- 
land^s dominion. To him and to their children her gentle 
kindliness, her tender reluctance to wound the humblest 
creature, was bnt weakness, almost contemptible weakness, 
and this idea permeated their judgment of her in all things. 
No one thought of consulting her, or taking her opinion, 
or crediting her ^ ith the ability she really possessed. Not 
that they were unkind ; they were all well-disposed, practi- 
cal lads and lasses — fond of their mother in a way, but 
scarce companions. She could never open her heart to any 
of them, except to Jack, the strongest and most combative 
of them all. 

Between the mother and her younger son there was pro- 
found sympathy, and the dream of Jack’s maturer man- 
hood was to make the evening of his mother’s days peace- 
ful, bright, and full of affection and warmth. 

With his father. Jack had little in common. Major 
Maitland was narrow and domineering, yet desirous of act- 
ing justly toward all men; exceedingly capable within cer- 
tain limits, and conscientious in the fulfillment of his 
duties, so far as he understood them. He had been inval- 
uable as an adviser, almost a ruler, to his friend and em- 
ployer, the late Laird of Craigrothie; but years and gout 
were beginning to enfeeble him, and make his stern and 
once equable temper irritable, at times querulous. 

From the time her son returned Mrs. Maitland began 
slowly, very slowly, to gain strength; but for several weeks 
she required the utmost care. The least occupied of her 
married daughters had hastened to assist in nursing her, 
and still stayed on! But it was her son’s daily visit and 
quiet talk that comforted and supported the invalid. 

With all his tender care for, and anxiety about, his 
mother, Maitland’s thoughts often strayed to the drama, he 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


95 


knew was being enacted in London. The composed little 
figure of Edith, the quaint grace of her unstudied move- 
ments, the curious, intelligent simplicity that seemed to 
expose the tinseled unreality with which she was surround- 
ed, whenever she was brought into contact with it, were 
perpetually in his mind. The honest preference she had 
unconsciously shown him had completed the charm she ex- 
ercised. Not that he allowed himself to believe that at 
present it was more than the friendliness of instinctive 
trust; but it might be more. It would be a delicious occu- 
pation to win the full womanly love of this delicate, un- 
worldly creature, whose gentleness was not weak, whose 
ignorance was not dull. She would be a kind, tender 
daughter to his mother; she would be happy in a quiet 
country home. What a contrast to his first stormy love 
affair, and to some slighter experiences through which he 
had since passed! He often conjectured how she was far- 
ing among the shrewd worldlings whose intrigues centered 
round her. AVas he. Jack Maitland, playing an honorable, 
manly part in letting her fall blindfold into the snare? Yet 
what could he do? Her wealth was a hinderance. What 
had he to offer that could in any way balance it? He was 
pondering these things with more than usual bitterness, be- 
cause his anxiety respecting his mother had been somewhat 
relieved. She was able to be moved from her bed to the 
sofa on the eighth day after his return. And Jack had on 
the following morning mounted his father's favorite hack 
to visit a distant part of the estate. 

It had been a wet night, and the rapidly ripening corn was 
beaten down in several places. The verdure of the wooded 
hills was richly, deeply green, the mossy cushions of the 
crags from which the place took its name, and the abun- 
dant leafage which grew around them, were glittering with 
rain-drops in the bright sunshine which had broken through 
the dispersing clouds. 

He had scarcely cleared the grounds which surrounded 


96 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


the factor’s dwelling when his progress was arrested by a 
“ wee laddie ” who was trotting along the road, and who 
called to him to come ben, for ‘ ane ’ wanted him by 
Sandy Duncan’s at the Beaton Arms. ” 

“Ane! Who?” asked Maitland, reining up. 

“ I dinna mind the name, but it’s a braw gentleman 
frae the south. ” 

“ From the south? Well, I’ll come. ” 

A few minutes brought Maitland to the door of the hum- 
ble hostelry which dominated the chief, indeed the only, 
street of the village, and to his no small surprise he found 
the “ braw gentleman frae the south ” to be Colonel Win- 
ington. 

“ Surprised to see me, hey?” he exclaimed, shaking 
hands cordially. “ London is so deucedly hot and dusty — 
nothing to do or to see that you haven’t seen and done a 
dozen times, and Mrs. AVinington has taken some crotchet 
into her head about staying to the end of the season. So, 
as my solicitor says I ought to see what’s going on here, I 
ran down for a day or two. ” 

“ I am afraid you will not be very comfortable in this 
little inn,” said Maitland, “ and I can’t ask you up to our 
place, for my mother has been dangerously ill, and must 
be kept very quiet. ” 

“ Oh, I shall be all right here. I am not hard to please, 
and I sha’n’t stay long. Come and have some breakfast; 
there’s trout and broiled ham, and cream scones — capital 
things, cream scones. ’ ’ 

Maitland had already breakfasted, but promised to return 
in half an hour to conduct Colonel Winington over the 
home farm and through the house, where he declined to 
take up his abode. 

“ I am a deuced deal more comfortable here,” he said. 

The sight of this unexpected visitor set Maitland’s mem- 
ory and imagination actively to work. He dared not ques- 
tion him, lest any report of the interest he betrayed might 


BEATOK^S BAEGAIK. 


97 


reach the keen ears of Mrs. AVinington; but he hoped that 
her husband might fall into a gossiping mood, which was 
not unusual with the gallant colonel, who, though as sharp 
as a Yorkshireman where sport and horses were concerned, 
had a strain of school-boy naivete running through his 
character calculated to mislead an ordinary observer, and 
which often puzzled the wife of his bosom, whom he adored 
as the finest woman, the cleverest creature extant. Never- 
theless, he occasionally saw through her little games with a 
species of intuition of which he was infinitely proud. 

Maitland rather liked Colonel AVinington, and by no 
means envied him the possession of his peerless Jean, 
though he credited that charming personage with much 
latent good, which under different circumstances might 
have been developed. 

After a long ramble, and a great deal of business talk, 
for the colonel was a thorough country-gentleman, and 
knew a thing or two about farming, he accepted Jack^s in- 
vitation to luncheon, and they repaired to AVestoun, the 
factor’s pleasant home. Here the colonel greatly gratified 
Major Maitland by expressing his hearty approval of all he 
had seen and learned in the course of the morning. 

Jack hasn’t gone about the world with his eyes shut, I 
must say,” quoth the old factor. He has a shrewd eye 
for cattle, and is a decent judge of crops. I think he is 
anxious to do his duty by the property. Indeed I should 
have had to give up some time past if I hadn’t had him be- 
side me. My eyes are failing me, and I can’t get about as 
I used.” 

“ You couldn’t have a better lieutenant,” said Colonel 
AYinington pleasantly; and Jack smiled as he looked back, 
not so very far either, to his father’s stern renunciation of 
him as a ne’er-do-weel and a disgrace to the family. 

Shall we have a cup of coffee and a cigar in the bal- 
cony?” he suggested. 

‘‘ By all means,” returned AVinington, rising. ‘‘ You 


98 


BEATOK^S BABGATK. 


have a delightful view here. Major Maitland. There^s 
nothing like it up at the house. 

“Perhaps not. Give me the ‘Scotsman/ Jack. If 
you’ll excuse me, I will stop here and have a nap. ” 

After enjoying the fragrance of their cigars for a few 
minutes in silence. Colonel Winington observed — 

“ This is uncommon nice! a deuced deal better than the 
dusty park, or the shady side of Pall Mall. I have paired 
off for the next two divisions, so I can breathe fresli air 
for awhile. I never knew Mrs. Winington stay so late in 
town, she generally wants to be away before the bloom is 
off the grape; but she is on another tack now.” He nodded 
knowingly. “ Of course you *aro in the secret! It’s her 
anxiety about her brother that is keeping her. You know 
what a slippery fellow Beaton is. He has given Mrs. 
AVinington no end of trouble. It’s quite natural she should 
try and secure that heiress she has picked up for him; nice 
little girl, deuced deal too good for Leslie, 1 think.” 

Maitland murmured an inarticulate assent. 

“Yes; nice soft little dove,” resumed Winington, after 
a few meditative puffs. “ It has given Mrs. AVinington a 
lot of trouble. She doesn’t think I know, but I do!” he 
chuckled. “ She is far too spunky to confess herself 
beaten if she can help it, and so I say nothing; but I 
am pretty sure Beaton has got the sack. He went 
off at a tangent to Winford, my place. I know he hates it, 
and hates being alone hke poison. I suspect he is doing 
the broken-hearted, and mademoiselle has headaches, and 
can’t come down to dinner. I suspect my precious broth- 
er-in-law is much more cut up about Lady. Mary Hay’s 
engagement with old Brown, which has just been an- 
nounced.” 

“ Has it?” cried Maitland, with vivid interest, his heart 
beating quickly at the dim delightful possibilities suggested 
by Winington’s revelations. 

“Ay! it is a good thing; it will be diamond cut diamond 


BEATON'S BAKGAIN. 


99 


with them ; but that little wood-pigeon, Edith Vivian, that 
is a different matter. However, I can't interfere. I'm 
quite sure my wife is biding her time; she'll bring up her 
man to the scratch again. If she has set her heart on the 
match, it will go hard but she'll manage it. She holds on 
like grim death to anything she takes up. You used to be 
chums in your boy and girl days, she tells me, and she is 
one that never forgets old times. I can tell you you are a 
prime favorite still, and we'll be veiy glad to see you at 
Winford this season; can promise you some good pheasant- 
shooting." 

Maitland thanked him without accepting. 

Soon after the colonel rose, and said he would go back to 
his inn to write a few letters, and if they could give him a 
mount, he would ride over to see a neighboring laird whom 
he had promised to visit when they met in London a few 
weeks back. 

Jack went to sit awhile with his mother, as was his wont 
in the afternoon, but he scarce knew what he talked about, 
so filled was his heart, his imagination, with ideas set in 
motion by Colonel Winington's report of the state of affairs 
in London. That Beaton had been refused was more than 
he expected. He did not anticipate such decision on 
Edith's part. It was by an effort he brought his thoughts 
under control, and compelled himself to show his usual care 
in trying to amuse and interest the invalid. 

She was surprised and pleased to hear of Colonel Win- 
ington's visit, and the friendly spirit he displayed. She 
was very anxious her favorite son should succeed his father 
both in his home and occupation. She thought her boy 
had been hardly dealt with, that he had suffered for the 
sins of others as well as his own, and she was anxious to 
see his future assured before she went hence. 

The little description of Colonel Winington's appearance 
and its results excited and fatigued her. Maitland, there- 
fore, seeing she was inclined to sleep, left her earlier than 


100 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


he usually did, and calling his favorite colly, set forth for 
a solitary ramble, to commune ^vith his own heart, to searcli 
out his spirit, and strive to come to some conclusion re- 
specting his future line of conduct. 

As he pressed up the side of Craigrothie hill with firm 
elastic tread, his spirits rose, his purpose disengaged itself 
from the mist of doubt and depression wliich had blurred 
it, and at length, reaching a grassy nook sheltered by a big 
gray crag, where many a time in by-gone days he had 
secluded himself to plan his future, often to think of 
bonny Jean Beaton, he lay down on the short, thick sweet 
grass, and the colly sat gravely beside him, with an air of 
alertness, as if determined to keep watch while his master 
slept or rested. 

But sleep and dreams were far from Maitland^s brain. 
His thoughts began to take order. If Beaton had tried his 
chance and failed, one barrier to his own progress was re- 
moved. Why should he not do his best to win what he so 
ardently desired? How was it that he had so quickly 
grown to love this quiet, pale, half -developed girl? To 
this there was no distinct reply; only his heart answered, 

I love her;^^ only his imagination pictured with a vivid 
flash the delicate purity of her unpretending aspect, the 
sweet truthfulness of her steady thoughtful eyes. What a 
restful home such a woman could make! What endless 
interest might be found in the growing knowledge of a nat- 
ure not overready to reveal itself, which, though perfectly 
candid, had yet a veil of tender reserve. And this defense- 
less creature was at the mercy of mere intriguers, careful 
only of their own advantage, and reckless of her happiness! 
It was the duty of any disinterested friend to rescue her 
if possible. 

Then the recollection of her welcoming smile, her trust- 
ing glance, made his pulses throb. ‘‘ She likes me better 
than any of the rest; I think she did, but I ought not to 
be too sure. I thought Jean would have stuck to me 


BEATON^S BARGAII^^. 


101 


tlirough thick and thin, and I was deceiving myself. Still 
I am half inclined to try my luck. If I fail, she would be 
no worse off than she is now. If she cares for me, dainty 
little darling! I could make her happy her own way. I 
wish she hadnH such a lot of money. I shall be thought 
a fortune-hunter; but I ought not to be a coward about 
opinion, when I know my own motives, when I know that, 
were I rich and she hadnH a rap, it would only make me 
more eager to marry her. Then she is so lonely, so unpro- 
tected. Old Mrs. Miles is a capital woman, but no com- 
panion for Edith. She can never go back to her old life. 
How desolate she is! If I do not exaggerate my chances, 
all may be right. I must make my father come to a defi- 
nite arrangement; the laborer is worthy of his hire. As 
for Edith ^s money, they may tie it up so that I can never 
handle a penny, if only they let me have herself; but shall 
I be deterred from securing my oivn happiness certainly, 
perhaps hers, by a specter of false pride? Ho; I will be 
true to myself. 

Then the regular sequence of thought became confused 
with sweet glowing visions of perfect understanding, of rest 
and security, of gentle caresses. Yes, as soon as his 
mother was a little stronger he would return to London, 
and risk an avowal of his hopes and fears. As to the guard- 
ians, well, only let him get Edith ^s consent, and he would 
manage them. When could he start? Not while Colonel 
Winington remained. As to Mrs. Maitland, she was dis- 
tinctly out of danger, and his sister could stay for ten days 
or so longer. He might run up to town on Saturday, call 
at the studio on Monday, and coax Edith to take a turn in 
Kensington Gardens. There he would learn his fate. In- 
deed it was quite possible that Mrs. Winington, disappointed 
by the ill-success of her favorite scheme, might have made 
her house too hot to hold the offending guest. If so, he 
would find Edith ^s present address, and follow. Yes, he 
Would tell the dear motlier that a matter of vital impor- 


102 


BEATON^S BAKGAIN. 


tance required his presence in town, and she would let him 
go. Soon he hoped to return with news that would cheer 
and comfort her. 

So, in a restless but hopeful mood. Jack Maitland rose up, 
a clear purpose once more steadying his will, and walked 
home less rapidly than he had set forth. 

At the entrance he met his sister with a letter in her 
hand. “ Oh, Jack, I have been looking everywhere for 
you. I have just heard from Allan (her husband). “ His 
Uncle Macalister, who is going back to India, has tele- 
graphed to say be is coming to-morrow for a week just to 
bid us good-bye, and I must really be at home to do the 
honors, for, you know. Uncle Macalister is a very important 
personage to us. I will return the moment he is gone, and 
you will stay with mother; she really would rather have you 
than any of us.^^ 

“But wait a bit, Jessie. \ want very much to go up to 
town. 

“I am very sorry. Jack, but I really can not stay. I 
have ordered George to bring round the wagonette; I can 
just catch the '6. 30 train, and reach home about ten.^'’ 

Jack was fairly caught. Destiny was too strong for him. 

He could not leave his mother, and his sister^s absence 
was prolonged beyond the stipulated week. 

Meantime, letters of tenderest, kindest inquiries from 
Mrs. Winington, both to Maitland and the invalid, came 
frequently, but with rare mention of Edith, yet Maitland 
could make out that she was still residing with her fascinat- 
ing protectress. At last Mrs. Methven returned to take 
her place beside the delicate mother, and the same day 
Maitland started for London. 

* * ♦ !l« ♦ 4s 

Mrs. Winington was growing cross and impatient; she 
was tired of the season, she had two tempting invitations, 
one to join a party of pleasant people on board a yacht. 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


103 


and one, still more attractive, to a hospitable country-house 
within seven or eight miles of Craigrothie. She had re- 
newed her acquaintance with the owner (who had lately 
succeeded to the family estates), and with his wife, whom 
she cultivated sedulously; she had almost determined to 
spend August with them, in the neighborhood of her old 
home, where she resolved Jack Maitland should be her 
squire and cicerone, if — if only Edith would make up her 
mind to marry Leslie and have done with it. Still she kept 
a fair face, and watched unceasingly for the right moment 
at which Beaton might reappear. 

Edith was very still and humble, looking and feeling 
miserable; she had learned enough of the new world into 
which she had been plunged, to know that soon Mrs. Win- 
ington would be leaving town, and still nothing was said 
about Edith^s accompanying her. 

“ I ought to prepare for returning home, dear Mrs. 
Winington,^^ said Edith timidly one morning at luncheon, 
when the servants had left the room, a few days after 
Beaton ^s disappearance, while the colonel was still abs^it 
on his flying visit to Scotland. 

Not yet, Edith. I shall not be leaving town for a few 
Greeks, and I need not say how much I wish you to stay 
with me; besides — but I don^’t like to talk of future plans 
just yet. Tell me, dear, would it annoy you if Leslie were 
to come here? I want very much to see him. He wants 
Winington to get him something to do in India, or the west 
coast of Africa — anywhere out of England, with a sigh; 

and you need not mind, for he has resolved to be your 
friend, if he can be no more.^'^ 

“ Of course lean not expect to banish your brother, and 
I am very grateful to him for wishing to be my friend,^' 
exclaimed Edith, coloring and looking embarrassed. “ But 
the studio will soon be closed, ajid then I think I ought to 
go to my own home and poor Mrs. Miles. You have taught 
me much, and done me a great deal of good 


104 


BEATON^S BARGAIN". 


‘‘ Poor dear cliild/^ said Mrs. AVinington, how fright- 
fully dull it will be for you!^^ 

“ I never used to be dull at Littlemere/^ returned EditTi 
thoughtfully, yet somehow I feel as if I should be iiow.^’ 
You must not stay there long/^ said Mrs. Winington. 

When do you say your studio closes 

‘‘ On the twenty-fifth. 

“ Why, that is only a fortnight off anti Mrs. AVinington 
was silent for a few minutes; the/, she apologized for leav- 
ing Edith, as she had several engagements, and soon after 
she went out. 

Edith was accustomed to be left alone of late; she did 
not in the least resent Mrs. Winington ^s desertion; she ac- 
cepted it as unavoidable, but it depressed her with the sense 
of being of no importance to any one. Moreover, that ter- 
rible speech of Maitland as reported to her had destroyed 
her self-reliance. If her conduct was such as to create so 
false an impression, the less she saw of strangers and society 
the better. A feeling of gratitude toward Beaton began to 

f elop in her heart, though she did not wish to see him, 
she had never felt quite at ease with him. 

She had been full of these thoughts as she walked back 
after her morning’s work, a couple of days after the above 
conversation, and rang the door-bell almost mechanically. 

“ Mrs. AVinington is in the morning-room, ’m,” said the 
well-bred butler, waving his hand invitingly in that direc- 
tion. 

Edith, taking it for granted that Mrs. Winington wished 
to speak to her, walked into the room, but instead of her 
hostess, she found a gentleman reading the newspaper. At 
the sound of the opening door he threw it aside, and started 
to his feet. It was Leslie Beaton. 

Edith could scarcely resist the desperate inclination to 
run away; she was startled, ashamed, disposed to cry. Bea- 
ton looked ill, too, and less smilingly debonair than usual. 
He hastened to put her at her ease. 


BEATOK’S BARGAIl^'. 


105 


“ I am inclined to apologize for being here, Miss Vivian,^’ 
he said, pressing her hand for a moment. “ I really did 
not think there was any chance of our meeting this morn- 
ing,^ ^ and he smiled pleasantly. ‘‘ As it has so happened, 
may I speak frankly — may I beg you to let by-gones be by- 
gones? Allow me the privileges of friendship during the 
short time I shall be in England. It would make my last 
days at home so much brighter. He paused suddenly, as 
if he felt a good deal. 

•‘You are very kind,'^ cried Edith, delighted with the 
proposition. “ I shall be so glad to have you for a friend. 
It is more than I could expect that you should care for my 
friendsliip.'’^ 

“You know how much I cared — began Leslie; but 
checking liimself, “We are not to revert to by-gones. Tell 
me, how are your studies progressing? I expect to see 
great things. I assure you I often wished you could have 
seen the woodlands at Winford. It is a sort of sylvan para- 
dise. I was always finding subjects for sketches; indeed I 
was almost tempted to try my own hand,^ ^ etc. , etc. 

And Edith, a good deal to her surprise, found her&f 
launched into an easy conversation on art and scenery and 
sketching with the man she shrunk from meeting two short 
hours before. 

“ Why, Edith,^^ cried Mrs. Winington, coming in quick- 
ly, “I had no idea you were here.'’' She spoke in a tone 
of surprise. “ I was obliged to see the head-gardener from 
Winford about those new orchids, and I had to read him 
Captain Sewell's letter about them." 

A little pleasant general chat ensued, then Beaton said 
he had promised to call on one or two people, and rose to 
leave. 

“ Come back to dinner," said his sister, “ and be sure 
you do nothing rash — nothing at all, indeed, until you con- 
sult me." 

Beaton laughed, bowed to Edith, and withdrew. 


106 


BEATO^r^S BARGAIN. 


‘‘ He is loob’ng wretchedly ill, isnH he?^^ said Mrs. Win- 
mgton, turning to Edith. Poor fellow, I am so glad you 
have got your meeting over in this accidental way. It 
would be quite foolish not to be good friends; indeed there 
is no reason whatever why you should not.^^ 

Beaton^s return appeared to break the spell of undefined 
discomfort that had oppressed both Edith and her hostess. 
He made himself a pleasant, unobtrusive companion. His 
conversation and manner were more serious, more kindly, 
and less complimentary than before. He talked of his fut- 
ure life in remote regions, and expressed a manly regret for 
his wasted youth, his lost opportunities. 

Edith began to feel like an indulgent sister to a prodigal 
but penitent brother. Mrs. Winington took long drives to 
the more picturesque environs of London, and encouraged 
Edith to try her ‘‘ ^prentice hand at sketching from nat- 
ure. Colonel Winington oscillated between his hunting- 
lodge, where he kept a stud of horses, and town, and July 
was drawing to a close. 

* * * * * 

Mr. Josiah Dargan was busy as usual over his papers 
and accounts one sultry morning. His dingy den was 
dingier and more redolent of dust than ever, the blind he 
had torn in his effort to save Beaton ^s eyes from the sun 
had been carelessly nailed up in a slant, and Dargan him- 
self, who was too dry and bloodless to feel changes of 
weather, was brown, discolored, and grubby as usual. 

He wore a look of satisfaction, however; a fresh victim 
had just effected a loan through his agency, as he termed 
it, and he had been calculating his immediate and prospect- 
ive gams. In this agreeable occupation he was roused by 
the entrance of the grimy boy, who placed a tiny note be- 
fore his master, and said interrogatively, “ See her? ^ 

Mr. Dargan shoved his glasses a little nearer his eyes, 
opened the note, and read, “ Can you speak to Mrs. Win- 
ington for a few minutes?^^ 


BEATON^S BARGAIK. 


107 


‘‘0 Lord!^^ ejaculated Dargan, in a low tone, hastily 
folding up the note again. “ Ay, let her come in, let her 
co^e in. ^ ’ 

He started up, pushed away his chair, and was half way 
across the room as his visitor entered. 

What an apparition in that dull sordid chamber! A 
very perfect costume of silvery-gray satin and grenadine and 
shining gray beads; a bonnet also gray, with ^iowny soft 
feathers tipped with silver, resting on her fine wavy auburn 
hair; gloves and shoes and parasol all delicately matching, 
lent to and borrowed from the wearer additional beauty. 
Even old Dargan was impressed, and hesitated how to ad- 
dress this dazzling vision. 

With a half-surprised, half-contemptuous glance, Mrs. 
Winington took in the details of the shabby room, and 
recognized the effect she produced on the owner. 

“ Do you know who I am?’^ she asked, showing her 
white teeth with a frank, amused smile. 

I think I do, I think I do, ma^am — my lady, you are 
my friend Mr. Beaton^s sister; let me give you a chair. I 
feel almost ashamed to let you sit down on such a tattered 
seat, but times are hard; as to new furniture, I darenH 
think of it.^^ 

I came to see you, not your furniture, Mr. Dargan,^"^ 
said Mrs. Winington, taking the dilapidated chair. ‘‘ I 
want to talk to you about my brother and your ward.^^ 

‘‘lam sure, ma^’am, I^m all attention,’^ shambling back 
with his uneven step to his place behind the knee-hole 
table. “ It is a long time since I heard anything of them, 
and indeed I didn't think your brotlier was the sort of man 
to let the grass grow under his feet." 

“ On the contrary, his precipitancy has nearly ruined all 
our plans. I say ‘our,' Mr. Dargan, for though I have 
not the pleasure of knowing you, I know all your plans, 
and the bargain you made with my brother." 

“Eh! do you now.^" grinning confusedly, and pressing 


108 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


the nib of a pen on a very black thumb-nail. Well, I 
did think that bttle — a — agreement was to be a secret 
betwixt Mr. Beaton and myself, of course. ” ^ 

‘‘ Of course,” interrupted Mrs. AVinington. “ It was 
quite right and natural that be should confide the whole 
alfair to me, especially as neither of you could have carried 
out your schemes without my help. It is equally natural 
that you shcudd look after your own interests, though strait- 
laced people might say the means you took to secure them 
were not exactly creditable. ” 

Well, you see, what people say doesn’t reach my ears,” 
returned Dargan, with a deprecatory writhe, rubbing his 
hands together. ‘‘ And how is Mr. Beaton getting on, 
may I be so bold as to ask?” 

“He is not getting on at all,” cried Mrs. Winington? 
with a burst. “ He is such an impatient creature, and your 
ward is an obstinate simpleton. He proposed too soon, and 
she refused him.” 

“ Good Lord! think of that now. Such a fine, elegant 
gentleman. I didn’t think any young lady Avould say him 
nay,” and Dargan began nervously to gather up the papers 
which lay about, and sort them in an unconscious w^ay. 
“.And do you mean to say it’s a drawn game?” 

“I do not intend it shall he,” said Mrs. Winington, 
closing her mouth firmly. 

“ Then what do you mean to do, my lady — I mean, 
ma’am?” asked Dargan, nibbling the top of his pen, and 
gazing at her with some awe and a good deal of admiration. 

“ Listen; I have not much time to spend here, and if 
you intend to get your money you must help me. I sus- 
pect that Miss Vivian has rather taken a fancy to a very mi- 
suitable person, wdiom she unfortunately met at my house — 
a stern, puritanical countryman of mine, who would not 
lose an atom of his just rights to save your life. He would 
be more likely to expose what he considered a fraud, than 


BEATOK^S BARGAHq-. 


109 


lend himself to any little arrangement that might faciUtate 
matters. In short, he must not interfere with my brother. 

“ No, certainly not; that^s right. 

Mrs. Winington^s eyes rested with unspeakable disdain 
on the withered, grinning, ignoble face opposite to her. 

“ I^m sure you have only to command me.^^ 

“ 1 have managed to bring Miss Vivian and Mr. Beaton 
together again, and she is playing at friendship with him. 
Let them pursue that game for awhile, then you must 
strike a blow and cut off her retreat. Your sister is her 
companion?^ ^ 

‘‘She is. 

“ And I presume you have a good deal of influence on 
Mrs. 

“ Miles, put in Dargan. “ Yes,' ^ rubbing his hands 
softly, “ I rather think I have." 

“ Then you must make her give up her engagement with 
Miss Vivian. Invent something imperative; send her away 
somewhere, a long way ofl; let that damp cottage in Hamp- 
shire, or sell it; cut off her supports, leave her no ‘ stand 
by ' but Mr. Beaton. She is peculiarly desolate; this ought 
to make her thank her good genius that she has found such 
a protector as my brother. " 

“ My sister will no doubt do as I bid her," said Dargan, 
laying down his pen, and beginning to stroke down his 
leathery j^uckered cheeks with his finger and thumb. “ But 
it seems a little strange to me that you should be so desper- 
ate anxious to get my ward for your brother. Grand people 
like you might have a choice of heiresses, I slioidd think." 

“ Heiresses fenced round with bristling hedges of uncles 
well up in the private liistory of every man in society, and 
cousins anxious to keep the money in tile family, if you 
like, but not heiresses perfectly free and unencumbered. 
Do not waste my time and your own in conjecture. Will 
you follow my suggestion, or shall we break off negotia- 


11b BEATON^S BARGAIN. 

tions, and send your ward back to the wilds from which 
you dragged her, poor child, for your own ends?^^ 

“ I don^t pretend to be an angel, Mrs. Winington, no 
more than Mr. Beaton does, but I thought, and I still 
, think, I was doing the best I could for Miss Vivian by 
pushing her marriage. I^m of your opinion that this 
shilly-shalljdng ought to be put a stop to; but you are as 
quick as a flash of lightning, and down on a man before he 
knows where he is. I think your notion is very good, very 
good,' and youfll see Ifll not be long about acting on it. 
1^11 start Mrs. Miles off and give her permanent employ- 
ment; but I hope, when the knot is tied hard and fast Mr. 
Beaton would not object to a little annuity in consideration 
of the help she is giving him.^^ 

“ She is helping you, too, Mr. Dargan,^’ said Mrs. 
Winington, shrewdly, “ and I hope you will not prove un- 
grateful.^^ She rose as she spoke. “We understand each 
other then,^^ she continued; “ our interests are alike. I 
suppose I may depend on you?” 

“ Ifll be as true as the needle to the pole,” cried Dargan, 
enthusiastically. 

Mrs. Winington laughed as she gathered up her delicate 
skirt lest it should touch the dirty carpet, and with a slight, 
haughty bend of the head left him. 

“ Well, she is a clipper, I never saw her match; and isn^t 
she regular fire and tow! I wonder now what^s the real 
reason she^s so keen for this wedding? there's something 
more than anxiety about her brother under it all. I'll say 
nothing to Tilly about this; time enough, time enough. 
As to Sally, she daren't refuse me anything, and Tilly has 
no call to interfere with her, duty and family affection 
must be attended to. Where will I send her? Liverpool; 
ay, Livei’pool would do well, very well. ” 

Meantime Mrs. AVinington, who had driven to 0. Street 
in a cab, and kept it waiting, was proceeding homeward 
via the Strand, when by one of those curious currents in 


BEATOK’S BARGAIN. 


Ill 


the stream of life which are no doubt governed by laws as 
yet undiscovered, despite their apparently accidental nature, 
she was drifted against the man who occupied her thoughts. 

A httle past Temple Bar there was a block, and her cab 
was obliged to stand still for a minute or two beside th^ 
footway. As she looked hstlessly at the passers-by, she 
suddenly recognized Jack Maitland coming from the direc- 
tion in which she was going. With a mixture of surprise, 
vexation, pleasure, but the last strongest, she waved her 
hand and caught his eye. He came readily enough, and 
the next instant she was exclaiming, with smiling hps and 
eyes — 

Back again in London, Mr. Maitland! Then I hope 
your dear mother is going on favorably. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ACCEPTED. 

v' / 

“ It was always vdth a sensation of pleasuraWor excite- 
ment that Mrs. Winington met Maitland, but os the present 
occasion it was by no means* unmixed. His coming was 
most inopportune, his appearance migkii introduce a dis- 
cordant element into the scheme sh- vas so diligently har- 
monizing. But even while sh^^ ) jd on him the kindest 
of welcomes,^ she said in her h re, He shall not defeat 
me, nor even delay me. 

“ Shall you be long ja town,"" she asked, after Maitland 
had replied to her i’iquiries. 

“ Onlv aiiay or two. I have no railway business to de- 
tain ’.lO-liOW."" 

We are, imfortimately, going out to dinner to-day, but 
you look in and have a cup of tea a little before fiver"" 

“ Certainly. I shall be most happy, " " returned Maitland ; 
his eyes lighting up with the joyous, tender expression she 
knew so well. 


112 


BEATON^S BAKGAIK. 


‘‘ Do not be late. She kissed her hand to him as he 
stepped back and signed to the driver that he might go on. 

‘‘ He is not handsome/^ thought Mrs. Winington, ‘‘ but 
how much better-looking than most handsome men. Oh, 
no one ever loved me as Jack did, and I treated liim 
abominably. I think he likes me a little still. Then the 
horrible suspicion flashed across her brain. Could the light 
that came to his eyes have been evoked by the prospect of 
meeting Edith Vivian? Ho, impossible! how could that 
insignificant child attract him from her rich beauty and 
practiced charm — a charm, too, which had once completely 
captivated him? The perfume of those delightful, foolish 
days must hang round her still. Oh, to hear him say in 
the deep full tones that used to stir her blood, if not her 
heart, No one can ever be to me what you were!^^ No, 
it was not likely that a poor little simpleton could be her 
rhal. Lady Mary was dreaming; yet, “ He shall not see 
her,'”’ was her fixed determination, as she alighted within a 
short distance of her own door, and dismissed the convey- 
ance. 

Has Mr. Beaton been here this morning ?^^ asked Mrs, 
Winington, as she entered her own mansion. 

“ No, ^m,^^ said the butler. 

Then send to the ^lub, and say I want to speak to him 
at once; send one of thft grooms on horseback. If Mr. 
Beaton is not at his club, let the man go to hi^ lodgings."’^ 

“ Very well, ^m. 

Mrs. Winington went to her room. 

At luncheon the master of the hous^ made his appear- 
ance, which was not an event of every-day oclMirrcnre, and 
when Mrs. Winington and her brother came in, they fo^an' 
him chatting cheerfully with Edith in the bay-window ' 
looking on the gardens. 

By George!' " cried Colonel Winington, “ Miss Vivian 
has been making great progress, Jean. I have persuaded ’ 
her to let me see some of her work. Look here, ’'’ holding ; 


beatok's bakgain* 


113 


out a drawing of a lattice window, one half open, with ivy 
and clematis clustering round the side, a vase standing on 
the window-sill as if in readiness for the flowers that were 
to fill it. “ It^s deucedly natural. There^s a window in 
the head- keeper’s lodge at Winford just like this. You 
must come down and see it. ” 

‘‘ Yes, that is a very nice little bit,” said Mrs. Wining- 
ton, ‘‘ and it is from a real window. Mr. Herman has a 
charming old house; he built his studio beside it.” 

‘‘ It’s uncommon pretty,” continued Winington. “ But 
come, let us sit down. I am as hungry as if I had break- 
fasted last month. Beaton, cut that chicken-pie. What’s 
the matter with you? I never knew you so silent since I 
had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Have you 
been snubbing him. Miss Vivian?” 

Edith blushed quickly, vividly. Mrs. Winington frowned, 
and could hardly refrain from uttering the ‘‘ How asinine!” 
which sprung to her lips. 

“ They say Parliament is tc be dissolved on the fifth of 
August,” she said to her husband, intending to draw him 
effectually from the subject. 

‘‘ say! Who says? Some blundering idiot. There’s 
no such luck. But I am not going to stay on roasting here. 
We’ll go down to Winford; sha’n’t we. Miss Vivian? and 
you shall make pictures by the yard. Try a little hock; 
do, it’s iced, and very good. ” 

No, thank you;” then, addressing Mrs. AVinington, 

“ I have written to Mrs. Miles and to Mi’. Tilly, telling 
them that the studio would be closed next week, and that 
you can not stay much longer in London, therefore I had 
better return to Littlemere. ” She spoke with some hesi- 
tation, and looked appealingly to Mrs. AVinington. 

AVell, dear, I wish you had spoken to me before you 
wrote. I shall not leave town till the first of August, and 
though I can not exactly fix my plans, there is time 


114 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


enough; you need not be in such a hurry to run away from 
us/^ 

No, let us all go down to Winford together. You don^t 
want to go off on any distant cruise, do you, Jean?^' cried 
Colonel Winiugton. 

I shall not commit myself, she returned, laughing. 

Beaton preserved an expressive silence, his eyes fixed on 
his plate. 

I do not wish to go, indeed I do not,^^ said Edith ear- 
nestly. You are all so good to me, but I fear to be in 
your way, and I do not want to desert my own home.^'’ 

• ‘‘ And we are of course tired of so tiresome and naughty 
a little girl,^^ said Mrs. Winington, with a pleasant smile. 
‘‘ However, things will arrange themselves. I was going 
to propose, as it is such a splendid day, to drive over to 
Clapham Common in the pony-carriage. There are some 
rather picturesque groups of trees there — one specially on 
an island in the large mere or pool. It might be good 
practice to try and sketch them; trees are so difficult. I 
went there once with your sister, Frank, when she was art 
crazy. 

‘‘ Ah, I remember, said Colonel Winiugton, nodding. 

‘‘Unfortunately,^’ his wife went on, “ I have had a 
manifesto from Madame Laure, who is coming to try on 
my autumn costumes, and plan an evening dress or two; 
and if T lose this chance I may not catch her again, for 
Laure is a personage, I assure you.” 

“lam veiy sorry,” cried Edith, impulsively; “ it is so 
difficult to find anything to sketch near London.” 

“ Why lose this bright idea?” said Beaton, looking up. 
“ Can you trust Miss Vivian and the ponies to me? I will 
drive carefully, and cut pencils et cetcera with diligence. 
What do you say?” 

“ An excellent suggestion,” exclaimed Mrs. Wining ton. 
“Will you accept it, Edith?” 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


115 


Yes; thank you very much. I should be so glad to do 
a little more sketching. 

“ You are right, Edith. Then I will order the phaeton 
to come round at three, and you^ll have a nice long after- 
noon. Ring the bell, Leslie.-’^ 

‘‘ Ha, Beaton, you haveiiT served your apprenticeship 
in drawing-room life for nothing, said Colonel Winington 
significantly. 

His wife looked at him with a warning frown, but his in- 
sinuation fell harmlessly on Edith^s ear; she was feeding 
Mrs. Winington ""s favorite skye with bits of sweet biscuit. 

Colonel Winington rose soon after, and left the room, 
saying he had promised to meet a fellow at TattersalEs. 

Mrs. Winington soon followed his example, and Edith 
went to put her drawing materials together. 

Maitlaud thought time had never gone so lingeringly as 
between his meeting with Mrs. Winington and five o^clock, 
when he was due at Fairfield Terrace. He felt quite sure 
of meeting Miss Vivian. He knew from a letter of the 
coloneFs, received only a couple of days before, that she 
was still Mrs. Winington^s guest, and likely to remain. 
Moreover, she never went out without her hostess. 

Would she welcome him with the sweet, frank, uncon- 
scious gladness he had often read in her eyes when they had 
met unexpectedly, or would she have changed during his 
absence? If not, no weak scruples should hold him back 
from trying to win her. If she had absolutely refused 
Beaton, as Colonel Winington seemed certain she had, 
Mrs. Winington had no right to be opposed to hmif and 
yet he felt with instinctive conviction that she would oppose 
him bitterly. 

“I must steer with caution,^" he thought as he rang, 
and was admitted into the cool, dusky, perfumed hall. 

‘‘ This way, sir,^^ said the butler, ushering him upstairs 
to the smaller of the two drawing-rooms, where Mrs. Win- 
ington sat in softened light, amid a profusion of delicious 


116 


BEATO^^^S BARGATK. 


flowers, fresh from a second toilet, after showing herself in 
her carriage, shopping, and leaving cards. She had hurried 
home and dressed just in time to be languidly at ease when 
Maitland was* announced. 

‘‘ Bring the tea; and. Miller, I am not at home. The 
butler bowed obedience and retired. 

“ I am quite glad to Iiear all about your mother and dear 
Craigrotliie from yourself/^ said Mrs. Winington, when 
they had exchanged greetings. Mrs. Maitland was always 
so good to me when I was ‘ a mitlierless bairn ^ at home. 
I hope she is gathering strength. 

“ Very slowly. Yet she does improve. I doubt, how- 
ever, that she will be able to bear an autumn and winter at 
Westoun, though it is the most sheltered spot on the estate. 
I shall take her away south somewhere. ” 

‘‘ You were always very fond of your mother, Jack,^^ 
said Mrs. AVinington, naturally. “ But oh, there is no use 
in looking back. Can any after-glow the world gives equal 
the fresh ddights of early days? I am half ashamed of the 
aching at my heart when I think of them. 

“ I don’t fancy, considering your p)resent surroundings, 
you have very much cause to regret them,’ ’ said Maitland, 
smiling. 

You think so?” looking down. “ I have most to re- 
gi’et my own folly and weakness,” sighing slightly. “ But 
tell me more about your mother,” she resumed, as the 
servant placed tea and wafer-like bread and butter on the 
table noiselessly, and then vanished. It is j^ears since we 
met. I suppose her tranquil life has left few traces on her 
sweet face. She always seemed a kind of saint to me. ” 

“ She is a good deal changed, foi* though her existence 
has been still enough. Heaven knows, she has had a great 
deal of anxiety, and little exterior support.” 

“ It must be a great comfort to her having you at 
liome, ” returned Mrs. Winington, and she continued to 
speak of their mutuaal experiences in the past, approaching 


beatok's bargaik. 


iir 

dexterously the scene of their stormy parting, with the in- 
tention both of eliciting some expression of his feelings from 
Maitland, and of giving her own explanation of the fact 
that she threw him over for a wealthy suitor. 

But her skill was unavailing, unerring instinct told her 
they were not in sympathy, that she neither touched nor 
stirred him. An irritating sense of pain and defeat began 
to dull the keenness of her native tact; she could scarce 
keep her brow smooth, and as she caught Maitland^s eyes 
wandering occasionally with an expectant look to the door 
by which he supposed every moment Edith would appear, 
she found it impossible to maintain her tone of dreamy, 
tender reminiscence. AVas he looking for Edith, thinking 
of that pale-faced chit while she was metaphorically at his 
feet? — had she lost all chance of reawakening the passion she 
had herself extinguished? 

Are you not a little distraite Mr. Maitland?^'’ she asked, 
with a well-got-up air of playfulness. AThom are you look- 
ing for? — Leslie, or Miss Vivian ?^^ 

“ I rather expected to find Miss Vivian with you/^ said 
Maitland, with such unhesitating frankness that Mrs. 
A^inington was a httle reassured. Leslie is out of town, 
I heard. 

‘‘Yes, he was out of town,^^ returned Mrs. AVdnington 
slowly, for she was making up her mind to a big bold false- 
hood. “But he came back nearly a fortnight ago, and I 
am sure you will be glad to hear that my hopes have been 
fulfilled. Miss Vivian has made up her mind (“ which 
she shall,’ ’ said the fair intriguer to her heai-t, in self -ex- 
tenuation) “ to marry Leslie. He has driven her over to 
Claphain to-day, as she wanted to sketch some trees there. 
I really begin to think Leslie will be very fond of her. I 
am sure he ought, for she is devoted to him. 

Silence. It was a most unexpected blow, and for a mo- 
ment Maitland was too stunned to think clearly. He rallied 


118 


BEATON^S BAKGAIK. 


himself by an effort. It would not do to make an enemy 
for Edith of this clever, unscrupulous woman. 

I congratulate you,^^he said, looking down, while he 
tapped the carpet softly with his stick. ‘‘ I hope Beaton 
will make a kind, steady husband. Miss Vivian seems to 
be something of a home bird. 

“ Like other women, she will probably become what her 
circumstances make her,^^ said Mrs. Winington, shortly. 
“ As the engagement is only just made, I beg you will not 
speak of it at present to any one.^^ 

“ Certainly not, if you desire it. I did not fancy affairs 
would go quite so quickly from what I saw before I left 
town. 

‘‘ Oh, they went much quicker after you left. It will be 
announced next week, and then we shall hurry on the mar- 
riage as fast as possible; in fact I shall not leave town till 
it is an accomplished fact. Then, after such prolonged 
self-abnegation, I am going to stay with the Johnstones at 
Strathairlie to refresh myself with a glimpse of the dear 
old country. 

“ Indeed! It is a long time since you visited the banks 
and braes of Craigrothie,'^ returned Maitland, in a some- 
what forced voice. 

‘‘Yes; quite ages. Shall you be at home in Septem- 
ber?^^ 

“ I suppose so.^^ 

“ Then you must be my guide, philosopher, and friend 
in the scenes of our youth,^^ said Mrs. Winington, stealing 
a watchful glance at his somber countenance. 

“lam at yom* service, of course.’^ 

Mrs. Winington felt the formality of his tone and 
sighed. 

“ If you are disengaged to-morrow, come to dinner and 
meet the affianced ones,'^ pursued Mrs. Winington, cold- 
ly; while she told herself, “ He will not come. 

“ I shall be most happy, if I am in London; but should 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


119 


I settle the matter about which I came up, I am bound to 
return by the night mail/’ He rose as he spoke. 

We will hope to see you, however,” said Mrs. Winmg- 
ton, smiling sweetly, without making any attempt to delay 
him. 

For the present, good-bye then. Should I not see you 
before I go, pray congratulate Beaton for me at the right 
time.” 

‘‘He will tell you himself, I have no doubt. Remem- 
ber, 7 :45 to-morrow. Good-bye. ” 

Mrs. Winington stoo'd looking after him for a minute, 
her brows knitted, the finger-tips of one hand resting on a 
small table beside her, the other grasping a locket at her 
throat. 

“ He came here to seek her,” she murmured; “ herself, 
or her money. Mary is right; I believe he loves her. I 
suspect I have dealt him a cruel blow. How gallantly he 
took it! He must never know I lied to him. Now this 
marriage must take place; and soon, cost what it may to 
every one concerned. How his eyes sought that door! 
Had she come in, they would have told everything in spite 
of his strength and self-control. Oh, how different he is 
from the willow wands of men that surround me!” 

ifc i}c Jjc ^ ijc sjc 

Edith returned from her sketching excursion looking 
brighter and better than Mrs. Winington had seen her since 
the day on which she had wounded her with the speech she 
had put into Maitland’s mouth. 

“ If she likes Leslie and marries him willingly, I will for- 
give her,” thought Mrs. Winington, as she looked at her 
sweet eyes and soft color. “ She really can look almost 
pretty. ” 

“ Had you a pleasant afternoon, and did Leslie cut your 
pencils judiciously?” she asked kindly, as they went up- 
stairs; Edith to take off her hat, and her hostess to dress 
for a dinner-party. 


120 


BEATOJSr^S BARGAIN. 


‘‘ It was very pleasant indeed. Mr. Beaton was, as he 
always is, so good. How niiich he knows, Mrs. Wining- 
ton! He gave me quite an interesting account of Clap- 
ham, and JStreatham, and l)r. Johnson.'’^ 

“ Did he?^^ with a little surprise.^ Oh, he is not dull.^^ 

It was not till the next day when they were breakfasting, 
however, that Mrs. Winington thought fit to tell Edith of 
Maitland^s visit. She had pondered profoundly on the 
best method of dealing with this fact, though it was with a 
natural air of sudden recollection she exclaimed — 

Oh, by the bye, I forgot to tell you I had a visit from 
Jack Maitland yesterday.^-’ 

Edith colored a little, but answered calmly, ‘‘Indeed! 
I suppose his mother is much better?^^ 

“ Yes; nearly quite well. I don’t know how long he is 
going to stay. I asked him to dinner to-day; both Colonel 
Winington and Leslie like him. ” 

“ Will he come?” 

“ He will if he does not go north to-night. Why, yon 
don’t like him; eh, Edith?” 

“ I am not so foolish as to dislike him, though I am 
sorry he is not as wise as I thought he was,” and she 
smiled. 

“ That he certainly is not. He asked for you, but with 
a sort of mocking, pitying smile that vexed me. Are you 
sure, dear clfild, you never showed him any particular 
preference?” 

“ Not that I am aware of; but you know how ignorant 
and untrained I am, dear Mrs. Winington. And when I 
am left to myself again I shall probably forget all you have 
taught me.” 

“You must not be left alone,” said Mrs. Winington, 
thoughtfully. 

And Edith went away to read in her own room, as was 
her habit; but it was some time before she could fix her 
mind on her book. The sense of unmerited humiliation. 


BEATON^S BARGAIN'. 


121 


of pain and anger against Maitland wliicli she had success- 
fully suppressed, was again aroused, and made her heart 
beat with indignation and regret. 

* :ie ♦ * * * 

Mrs. AVinington was not surprised to receive a line of 
ajDology from Maitland; he found it necessary to leave for 
Edinburgh by the night train. “ I wonder what his busi- 
ness in London really was?’^ she thought, as she threw his 
note into the wiiste-paper basket; “ at any rate lie is safe 
out of the way. AVhen he meets Edith again she shall be 
Mrs. Leslie Beaton. 

Another week had nearly passed by, and Edith had had 
no answer from Mrs. Miles. She saw less than ever of her 
brilliant hostess, who Avas much engaged assisting Lady 
Mary to choose her trousseau. Beaton, however, was con- 
stantly with her, always quickly attentive, and interested in 
all that interested her. She was growing quite at ease with 
him, and sincerely grateful for his ready friendly sympji- 
thy. 

Mr. Tilly had paid her a visit, and stayed to luncheon, 
where he seemed anything but comfortable. He said that 
he and his excellent friend Hargan were going to arrange 
about her future residence, and introducing some little 
variety into her life, and «vas generally amiable and vague. 

One Saturday morning, however, brought poor Edith 
two terrible letters. One from Mr. Dargan, announcing 
that as both Mr. Tilly and himself were of opinion that 
their ward should no longer be buried alive in a country 
village, they had accepted a very good offer for the cottage, 
and let it on lease. His sister, Mrs. Miles, would, he said, 
speak for herself. He only deeply regretted the circum- 
stances which obliged her to leave her dear charge. 

The other was from poor Mrs. Miles, and was a very in- 
coherent production; it was even illegible here and there 
from big tears which had evidently fallen on the paper. 
She explained in a confused fashion that an aunt who had 


BEATON^S BARGAIl?. 


shown her kindness in former days was dying of a lingering 
illness, and was quite alone; that she felt it her duty to go 
and nurse this relative to the last; that it broke her heart 
to leave her dear Edith, but it could not be avoided; that 
it would be almost the sorest day she ever had when she left 
the cottage, and that would be on Tuesday next. Finally, 
she prayed God to bless her dear child, and restore them to 
each other. 

Besides the letter a scrap of paper had been thrust into 
the envelope, on which were scrawled in tremulous char- 
acters these words: I canT help myself, dear, I canT in- 
deed. Ill tell you all yet; wait a bit, and du9'n 

Edith read both letters twice before she took in their 
meaning; then the full sense of her desolation rushed upon 
her. Without a home, a tie, a claim on any one, what was 
she to do? what was to become of her? Only at breakfast 
a couple of hours ago, Mrs. Winington had been talking of 
a series of visits she had promised to pay to various country 
houses. Where was she to turn? The consciousness that 
she had money enough for all her needs w^as a sort of ab- 
stract idea that brought her no comfort. 

There was a tinge of mystery, too, in. this sudden wrench- 
ing asunder of the faithful Mrs. Miles and herself that com- 
pleted her distress. Dargan was at the bottom of it. She 
had an innate distrust of Dargan; and Mr. Tilly, though 
so much nicer, was a mere puppet in his hands. She had 
no real friend on earth but Mrs. Winington, and perhaps 
Mr. Beaton, though she had no right to trouble either. 
She gathered up these dreadful letters, and ran to Mrs. 
W^inington^s private sitting-room, eager to confide her griefs 
to her only friend and receive counsel, but the room was 
empty. 

Edith sat down, hoping Mrs. Winington might come in 
before going out, as she often did, in the forenoon. Once 
more she read Mr. Dargan ^s letter, thinking all the time 
she heard his thin, harsh voice uttering the smooth sen- 


BEATOK*S BAEGAIK. 


123 


tences, and almost seeing his sycophantic grin. Her pulse 
beat quick, with an indignant sense of helplessness. 
Why did they tear Mrs. Miles from her, and why, oh, why 
did not Mrs. Winington come? 

As she thought the handle of the door turned. At the 
sound Edith started up, and went forward so eagerly that 
she nearly rushed into Beaton's arms as he came in. She 
was too full of her troubles to be in any way confused. 

“ Oh, where, where is Mrs. Winington?" she exclaimed, 
with a genuine ring of distress in her voice. 

‘‘ She has just gone out," he returned, looking earnestly 
at her. 

“How unfortunate! I wanted her so much," and a 
great sob would rise in her throat, in spite of her brave 
effort to be calm. 

“ What has happened?" asked Beaton, with grave sym- 
pathy. “ Can I be of any use?" 

Edith looked at him for a moment of doubt, and then 
broke out, “ Ho, no, no one can be of any use to me! Mr. 
Dargan can do what he likes!" 

“ Old rascal! What has he been about?" asked Beaton, 
with an accent of real wrath that fitted Edith's mood ex- 
actly. “ I see," he continued, “ you have letters. Are 
they the trouble? Am I presuming too much if I ask to 
know what distresses you? My sister will not return for a 
couple of hours. It might be a relief to tell me, even me," 
with a grave smile. 

“ I should be very glad, as you are so good to care. Bead 
these, and you will not wonder at my feeling desolate. " She 
handed him the letters, and threw herself on the sofa with 
self-abandonment very new to her. 

Beaton stood by the window and read both epistles in 
silence. Edith thought the time dreadfully long before he 
came across to where she sat, and returned them to her. 

“ Very hard lines for you," he said, “ but I do not see 


134 


BE atom's BARfUIN. 


how it is to be helped. ” (Edith had loyally burned poor 
Mrs. Miles’s private scrap.) 

“ Don’t you see it takes away from me any shadow of 
home? When Mrs. Winington goes I shall be quite, quite 
alone!” cried Edith. 

‘‘ And Jean has so many engagements,” said Beaton, as 
if to himself, beginning to pace to and fro with a troubled 
air. That will not last long, however. You can make 
a home where you choose. ” 

“ I am afraid I can not! Where can I go? To some 
strange old lady who will not like me? for I do not get on 
with people. You most see that. I am misunderstood;” 
and she thought of Maitland. 

‘‘ But when they know you they love you,” cried Beaton, 
and continued his walk in silence, till Edith, placing her 
letters in her pocket, rose, saying, “ Nothing can be done 
till I see Mrs. Winington.” 

“ Stay, stay for a few minutes. Miss Vivian, I have a 
solution to propose,” said Beaton, with agitation; “ pray 
hear it patiently. ” He had thoroughly dramatic instincts, 
and threw himself into his jjart, be the part what it might. 

Edith sat down again. He had so effectively played the 
calm friend, that Edith hardly anticipated what was coming. 

I ought not perhaps to revert to my own wishes,” he 
went on hurriedly — “ wishes I have tried to resign, but can 
not. Why, Edith^ will you not accept a home with me? 
No, do not speak yet, hear me out.'” He sat down on the 
sofa beside her. ‘ ‘ I can see plainly enough that you have 
no love for me. I feel too much for you not to perceive 
your indifference, but as a friend my society gives you some 
little pleasure. Do I flatter myself too much?” 

‘‘ No, indeed!” cried Edith, eager to make some amends 
for her guilty coldness; “ you are always nice and pleasant. ” 

Beaton smiled. “ Then do you think it impossible for 
me to make you happy? Dear Edith (I must call- you 
Edith), you are so deliciously pure and simple, you don’t 


BEATON BARGAIN. 


125 


know what love is. I will never believe you cared a straw 
for any man.^^ Edith winced. ‘‘ Let me try and teach 
you; I know your heai’L your mind; I know the sort of life 
that would suit you; and though I may not be worthy of 
you, I am not a bad fellow. I have a good temper, and 
more heart than I thought I had, till you drew it forth. I 
am a poor man, I can not tempt you with wealth, but we 
shall have enough for a quiet life. We can wander about 
the Continent, and revel in music and pictures, and make 
a home wherever we go. You are surely not so hard as to 
be unmoved by such true affection, such warm esteem as 
mine? If you accept me you can do what you will, inde- 
pendent of guardians or any other nuisance of that kind, 
and you will make one man very happy. ” 

His quiet earnestness touched Edith; she hesitated and 
grew vei*y grave, as she thought it was quite possible she 
could be tranquil and happy with such a devoted friend. 
No one else had ever loved her except poor Mrs. Miles, and 
gratitude alone ought to make her aj)preciate a ‘‘ free-will 
offering like Beaton^s love. He showed no conceited as- 
surance that she was ready to love him on the smallest prov- 
ocation. Why should she not accept him, and secure his 
kindly tender protection? Why should she remain friend- 
less any longer? 

‘‘Will you at least consider my proposal?’^ persisted 
Beaton humbly, after a long pause. 

“ You are too good to me,^^ said Edith softly. “ I feel 
ashamed of not — of not being in love with you; but I don't 
think I am, though I like you very much and am very, very 
grateful to you. I am greatly surprised that you care about 
me; I hardly deserve it. You could not like to have a 
wife who was not in love with you?" 

“ I should like you to be my wife on any terms," eagerly. 

“ Afterward you might be sorry; I am so different 
from — " 

“ That is your greatest charm," he interrupted, “ You 


126 


BEATON BAKGAJN. 


are so fresh, so unlike the women I have been accustomed 
to. Listen to me. I have had the offer of an employment 
in Africa. If you accept me I will give it up; it is not a 
place I would take you to. If you refuse I will start next 
week, and never — I swear it — never return. My future is 
in your hands, do with it what you will.^^ 

Edith was greatly shaken. Firmly believing all he said, 
it seemed all but imperative on her to accept him. Who 
would ever care so much for her again? A feeling that if 
she rejected him she would never find any one to love her 
as he did, impelled her to say tremulously — 

‘‘ If indeed you think me so necessary to you, if you are 
satisfied with the sort of feeling I have foi*' you, I think — I 
think I would try to be very good and careful.'’'’ 

‘‘If!'’^ cried Beaton, interrupting her, and catching her 
hand in both his own. ‘‘ I make no conditions. I only ask 
the right of a husband to be with you always, to help you,, 
to teach you to love me. Do you know — can you see the 
delight even this faint consent gives me? Make it more — 
more distinct; give me your promise to be my wife as soon 
as matters can be arranged. 

“ Yes,^^ said Edith slowly, almost solemnly, ‘‘I will, and 
I shall love you when we are married, I am sure I shall. 
She spoke calmly, without any of the blushing hesitation, 
the shy consciousness, natural at such a crisis. 

Beaton wisely took his tone from her. He kissed the 
hand he held tenderly, gravely; he murmured — 

‘ ‘ How can I thank you enough! Even for the sake of 
this delightful moment I would not have tried to win your 
consent, if I did not firmly believe I could insure your 
happiness, dearest. 

He looked so bright, so joyous, that Edith felt pleased 
with herself for giving pleasure. Yes, it was well to end 
her uncertainties, and secure a tranquil future by accepting 
so devoted a lover; but she wanted to go away, to think, to 
relieve her heart by a good cry. 


BEATOK^S BARGAIN. 


127 


“ Must you leave me?^' said Beaton, as she made a move 
as if to go; then he exclaimed, “ But I mujt remember 
there is some diiference in our feelings, I must not be too 
exacting. I shall see you this evening. !Now I have your 
permission to go and speak to old Dargan; he is sure to be 
in his den early and late. You will tell Jean, if I do not 
meet her; she will be delighted, she is really^fond of you. 
Good-bye, my sweet. 

He opened the door for her, he kissed her hand in Gran- 
disonian style, and looked unutterable things after her as 
she ran swiftly upstairs — in case she turned back. Then 
he went into Mrs. Winington^s sitting-room again, looked 
at liimself in the glass, nodded approvingly at his own im- 
age, rearranged his ‘‘ button-hole,’^ and descended to the 
dining-room, where he told the footman to bring him a 
brandj and soda. 

Before he had finished this refreshment his sister came 
in. 

“ Well, Jean,” he cried triumphantly, “I’m all right 
this time; she is fully and completely committed.” 

“ I am glad!” exclaimed Mrs. Wrinington. “ I did not 
think you would strike home so decisively at the first blow. 
I a7}i glad!” 

“ She is a nice little thing, ’pon my soul she is! I was 
quite pleased with her. But, mind, she is not one bit in 
love with me, not an atom, and it’s really better. I hope 
she won’t grow too desperately fond by and by. ” 

“Nonsense! Now the sooner we make it universally 
known that you ave engaged the better; let us haste to the 
wedding.’ We can manage to have the knot tied within a 
month from this. Ah, Leslie, all’s well that ends well. I 
must go to Edith now. Where is she?” 

“ Weeping over the tremendous destiny, I dare say, in 
her own room. She ought to have stayed and let me kiss 
away her tears.” 


4 


128 


BE ATONES BARG A Ilf. 


CHAPTER IX. 

AK INTRUDER. 

You will, I fear, think me heartless for not writing be- 
fore. It is hot that I feel less anxious about dear Mrs. 
Maitland, but I have been breathlessly busy, as both Leslie 
and Edith Vivian are anxious to have the wedding on the 
28th if possible. For my own part I shall not be sorry to 
see the last of the turtle-doves, who are billing and cooing 
about me all day long. You know poor Edith^s outspoken 
simplicity, and can imagine how demonstrative she is under 
present circumstances, Leslie is, I think, growing quite 
fond of her, and will, I am sure, make a very tolerable 
husband. He talks of asking you to be ins best man. I 
hope you will come, as you have been in the business from 
the first. The worst of it all is, I can hardly get away till 
the 30th, and town is something too doleful. I long for a 
breath of Craigrothie air! It is nearly five years since I 
saw the old place. It then filled me with uuGpeakable mel- 
ancholy. I could enjoy it now, because you are restored to 
your proper place. Pray write soon, and tell me what 
Mrs. Maitland^s plans are for the winter. 

Always yours, 

“jEAIf AVlIfllfGTOlf.’^ 

Jack Maitland read this ejnstle over a second time, as he 
walked through a bit of woodland to visit a farm, the ten- 
ant of wliich had been clamoring for repairs. Recognizing 
the handwriting when the contents of the post-bags 'were 
distributed at breakfast, he deferred reading it, feeling cer- 
tain it would contain something to wound and fret. The 
perusal justified his anticipations. The letter was cunning- 
ly contrived to stab him, and accomplished its end; but he 
did not dream it was designed. He never imagined that Mrs. 
AVinington had any clew to his feelings. Her letter seemed 
to him the natural sequence of her announcement that her 
brother and Miss Vivian were engaged. Yet the pictui’e 


beatok's bakgain. 


129 


her words called up made him set his teeth as if in pain, 
and he wished she had been less suggestive. Not that he 
believed Edith was too demonstrative; her quiet, somewhat 
sedate, nature was far removed from the effervescent con- 
dition irreverently called “gush.^^ That she would be 
frankly, deliciously tender he had no doubt. 

Well, he was infernally unlucky. He might have had as 
good a chance as Beaton, had he not been called away. 
Now, it would be long before he could banish the cruel 
heart-ache that blackened all he looked upon. As Beaton ^s 
wife he never wished to see Edith^s face again; he would 
not make her happy, and to see her changed or sad would 
be more than he could bear. As to Mrs. Winington, she 
had been his evil genius, from first to last, and for the mo- 
ment the thought of her was hateful to him. He tore her 
letter into tiny morsels, fiung it into the brawling burn by 
which the pathway led, and made a strong effort to turn 
his mind fully to the business he had in hand, with so much 
of success that the farmer, after a prolonged interview, 
told his wife that young Maitland was ‘‘ sair dour the day. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Winington contrived to keep Edith in a 
constant whirl. She was positively alarmed at the amount 
of clothes and toilet accessories which her energetic friend 
declared to be absolutely necessary. 

Colonel Winington enforced his congratulations with the 
gift of a handsome bracelet, and made much of her in every 
way. Lady Mary in the midst of her own preparations for 
her immediate marriage, found time to indite a sugary 
epistle, expressing her hope that they would become fast 
friends when they were settled in town, etc. , etc. 

Beaton was constantly with her, and for the first fort- 
night most judicious. He kept up the tone of friendly 
sympathy, occasionally dashed with tenderness. He 
amused her by planning routes, describing the beauties and 
wonders he was to show her, and he kept her mind full of 
himself and his projects. Maitland was never mentioned; 

5 


130 BEATON^S BAEGAIN’. 

indeed Edith thought she had forgotten him. The guard, 
ians were smiling and satisfied. Mrs. Miles wrote in un- 
mistakable delight, and said she was sure to get a holiday 
in order to attend her dear child^s wedding. 

All looked fair and promising. Edith herself felt con- 
vinced she had done well and wisely iu accepting so kind, 
so considerate a suitor, and was thankful that the question 
of her future destiny was at rest; but she longed intensely 
for the moment of meeting with Mrs. Miles, her one' real 
old friend. 

She was almost embarrassed by the numberless rings and 
lockets and little costly charms to hang to her watch- 
chain with which Leslie loaded her. 

“ I shall never be able to wear them all. Pray do not 
bring me presents every day,""" she begged. 

“ Very well. To hear is to obey. Only whenever I see 
anytliing extra pretty, I am seized with an irresistible desire 
to buy it for you,^^ urged Beaton. 

It was finally decided that only such portions of Miss 
Vivian '’s trousseau as were suited to traveling should be 
prepared, and the rest was to be in readiness for her on her 
return to London. 

And now the last week of Edith^s girlish life had begun; 
on Thursday she was to become Mrs. Leslie Beaton, and at 
the thought of the near metamorphose she felt a curious 
uneasy creepiness. 

The truth was, that Beaton had begun to get a httle tired 
of the part he had hitherto played with such spirit and 
judgment. He was not less atte^itive or ready to lavish 
presents on his Jia7iceef but he unconsciously fell back into 
his old mocking tone, which was perhaps slightly harder, 
because it was somewhat trying to his equanimity to know 
that ‘‘ Lady Mary Stanley Brown had started on her 
wedding-tour just ten days before he was to set out on his 
own. 

Edith felt rather than perceived the indefinable change; 


BEATON^S BAKGAII^’. 


m 

she told herself she was nervous, childish, unreasonable; 
but a vague unpleasant impression would grow upon her, 
that Leslie Beaton, keen, jesting, brightly hard, was a more 
natural man than the quiet, kindly, sympathetic Beaton, 
who seemed to understand her thoughts before she uttered 
them. 

You are not keeping up to the mark, Leslie, said his 
sister one evening, just three days before that fixed for the 
wedding. “You are allowing the old original Adam to 
peep out. I saw Edith^s eyes grow moist and sad when you 
were talking so wittily about Mr. and Mrs. Wandesford and 
their quarrels. You ought to remember she does not im- 
derstand our shibboleth. 

“ Heavens and earth! can I ever forget it? The sweet 
little Quakeress is too excruciatingly in earnest. But you, 
ought to remember what a desperate drill I have gone 
through. Is it to be wondered at that I break out at last? 
Never mind, I am going to buy her the ring to-morrow, 
and I shall be as meekly courteous and tenderly observant 
as a young knight in a mediaeval romance. 

4c 4< * * He * 4c 

The “ to-morrow broke brightly and softly. Edith 
had lain long awake, thinking over her quiet past, its 
peaceful if unbroken monotony. If the future promised 
more color and variety, would it be as free from pain? Be 
that as it might, she could do nothing now to change her 
fate, and she would not weaken herself by dwelling on pos- 
sibilities of evil. 

But the self -commune told upon her, and when Beaton, 
as usual after luncheon; followed her to the drawing-room, 
while Mrs. Winington prepared to go out, he asked with ap 
air of the deepest, tenderest solicitude what had disturbed 
or distressed her, as she looked pale and sad. His question 
brought back her color, and with it a sense of guilt at hav- 
ing allowed herself to doubt the kindness and affection of 
the man who looked so lovingly into her eyes, and spoke in 


132 


BEATON^S BAEGAIN. 


tones SO anxiously inquiring. Of course she assured liim 
she was well and happy, and they talked for a few minutes 
with renewed confidence on Edith’s part. As Leslie was 
gentle, grave, all that he ought to be, she felt once more 
at ease with him. 

I have ventured to bring you yet another ring,” he 
said at length, drawing a very small parcel from his pock- 
et; and unfolding the silver paper in which it was wrapped, 
he produced a plain gold ring. “ It is as well to ascertain 
if it is the right size,” he added, with a smile, and was in 
the act of trying it on her finger, when a solemn footman 
entered, and addressing Edith, said: 

There’s a gentleman, ’m, as says his name is Vivian 
asking to see you. ” 

“ Vivian!” echoed Edith, amazed. But she had scarcely 
uttered* the word when a tall, very tall man, exceedingly 
brown and sunburned, with dark hair and keen hazel eyes, 
appeared behind the startled Thomas, and pushing him 
aside strode into the room, stopping short in the middle. 
He was clothed in a black velvet coat, dark trousers very 
loose about the ankles, and held a soft gray felt hat in one 
ungloved brown sinewy hand. A gaunt bony figure, and 
extremely unlike those usually seen in “ my lady’s cham- 
ber. ” 

After one comprehensive glance around the room he fixed 
his piercing eyes on Edith, and asked in a rough voice, 
“ Are you my cousin, Edith Vivian?” 

‘‘I am Edith Vivian,” she returned, rising in her ex- 
treme surprise, but I do not think I have any cousins.” 

No, I dare say not,” he returned, with a big laugh. 

“ Pray, who are you, sir?” asked Beaton, haughtily, ad- 
vancing between his fiancee and the intruder. 

I am David Vivian, her uncle George’s only surviving 
son,” nodding to Edith. But she never even heard of 
me, I suppose. Our fathers parted years ago. And you ” 
— sharply — ‘‘ I suppose you are her sweetheart? I am glad 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


133 


to make your acquaintance, sir. Shake hands, Cousin 
Edith. I^ll be pleased to come to your wedding as your 
nearest of kin,^^ and he sat down unasked in one of the 
brocaded velvet chairs that stood near him. 

Beaton looked at him, a slight smile stealing around his 
mouth. He was too sure of his own position, too much a 
man of the world, to be disturbed by the intrusion of any 
eccentric relative. He would neither be uncivil nor admit 
his claim. 

“ Well, my good sir, you can not expect Miss Vivian to 
accept you as a relative without something in the way of 
credentials. Very possibly what you say is correct, but — 

‘‘ Ah, I understand. Well, I have left all my papers, 
that is, the attested copies — catch me parting with the 
originals — with that old fellow down in — what do you call 
it, the lawyers^ kraal — the Temple. You know him. Your 
guardian, I mean,^^ to Edith. “ He seems in a great tak- 
ing. He told me you were to be married on Thursday, so 
I made tracks as fast as I could to have a look at my little 
cousin, and let her know Eve a sense of justice, and though 
T^’ll have my rights, every inch of them, I^m not going to 
be hard on a young lady, and a pretty one into the bargain. ^ ^ 

An av^ul fear shot through Beaton ^s soul. Was this a 
claimant for Edith^s inheritance? 

‘‘ If you are a cousin,^ ^ she exclaimed, I shall be very 
glad, for I donT seem to have any one belonging to me, 
and you are a little like a picture of my father’s brother 
George that hangs in the parlor at home.” 

‘‘Good! shake hands on it. You look like an honest 
straightforward girl. I suspect you’re in luck, sir,” turn- 
ing to Beaton, after shaking Edith’s hand vigorously. 

“ May I ask to what rights you allude?” asked the 
former, with cold gravity. 

“ The right to all my uncle Jolm’s real estate,” returned 
the stranger promptly. “ I intend, in justice to myself, 
to prove who I am, and to what I am entitled; hut I 


134 


BEATOif’S BAEGAIN". 


sha^n^fc be greedy if you are friendly. Now, as I feel 
strange, not to say lost, in this monstrous big place, and 
you seem to have a roomy house, I suppose I may as well 
take up my quarters with you 

Edith looked white and half frightened. Beaton was too 
confounded to reply, so his joung fiancee explained — 

“ This is not my house, nor Mr. Beaton^s. It belongs 
to his sister, Mrs. Winington, with whom I am staying. 
Mr. Beaton does not live here. 

‘‘ Ha! that alters the case. Well, a man on board the 
steamer with me told me to put up at the Tavistock Hotel. 
I only arrived late last night, so ITl just stay on there. I 
have a lot of business to look after. You see I have been 
away up at the diamond diggings, and further, with some 
fellows that were hunting for gold and feathers, so it was 
more than two years since I left Cape Town. When I 
came back a couple of months ago, I met an old friend of 
my father’s who had been home to England. He told me 
of the uncle’s death, and the property he had left, and how 
it had all been seized by my cousin — naturally enough, natu- 
rally enough. I just took the next steamer home, and 
here I am. I don’t think you are too glad to see me.” 

You must admit your appearance on the scene is a lit- 
tle startling,” said Beaton, with praiseworthy self-posses- 
sion. “ Have you seen Mr. Dargan, the more active of the 
two guardians?” 

Not yet. The other old boy talked of him, and seemed 
too frightened to say yea or nay without him. ’ ’ 

‘‘Suppose we go and call on Dargan together,” said 
Beaton pleasantly. “ I don’t want to make myself ridicu- 
lous by oversuspicion, but I am sure you are too much a 
man of the world to expect that I should take you simply 
on your own word?” 

“ Right you are, by George,” cried the stranger, start- 
ing up. . “ Come along, then; I’ll see you again, my pale 


BEA ton’s bargain. 135 

little cousin.” Another strong grasp of the hand, and. he 
strode out of the room as abruptly as he had come in. 

Beaton paused a moment to say, “ This threatens to be 
a serious affair, Edith. You had better keep out of that 
Hottentot’s way. I’ll tell Somers to send Jean to you as 
soon as she comes in; let her know everything,” and he 
went hurriedly out of the room. 

Edith stood quite still where he left her, with a curious 
dazed feeling, as if she had been suddenly roused from a 
dream, and was not yet quite awake. She had a very 
vague idea of what it all meant. 

If this stranger was really a cousin she would be glad. 
His face was kindly in spite of his keen, almost fierce eyes, 
and he might be a friend. Her clearest impression was 
that Mr. Beaton — she had not yet arrived at calling him 
Leslie, even in her thoughts — was very gravely and cer- 
tainly not pleasurably affected by his sudden appearance. 
Why should he be? What were the rights he talked about? 
and what had she to do with them? Mrs. Winington no 
doubt could answer, and until she came in it was useless to 
conjecture. 

So Edith turned to leave the room and sequestrate her- 
self in her own. As she did so her eyes fell on the wed- 
ding-ring which Beaton had been in the act of trying on 
when her self-called cousin broke in upon them. 

It had been thrown aside, paper and all, on a small tea- 
table, utterly forgotten by the donor. Edith took it up 
with a sort of prophetic doubt. “ How will the coming of 
this strange man affect our life?” She only thought that 
if this Vivian, as he called himself, proved really to be her 
relative, it might worry Beaton to associate with him. 
This, however, could not matter much; still an uncomfort- 
able presentiment that unpleasant changes were at hand 
oppressed Edith as she folded up the ring and placed it in 
a little silver coffer, one of the many ornaments scattered 


136 


Beaton’s bargain. 


about, for sbe neither liked to keep it herself, or leave it to 
be swept away by the house-maid’s duster. 

At last, reaching the shelter of her own room, she took 
refuge from her confused thoughts in a book Maitland had 
once recommended. 

Reading had become a great delight to her since Mrs. 
Winington left her so much to herself. Her mind, her 
character were rapidly maturing, and no absorbing passion 
for the man she was about to marry interfered to check 
their growth. 

She was interrupted after more than an hour had elapsed 
by a tap at her door, immediately followed by the entrance 
of Mrs. Winington in her out-door dress. 

“ They say you want to speak to me, Edith.” 

‘‘ Yes; I want to speak to you very much,' ’and she drew 
forward an easy-chair. ‘‘ I — we rather, Mr. Beaton and 
myself — ^had a visit from a wild-looking man who says he is 
my cousin,” and she described the interview very accu- 
rately. 

As Mrs. Winington listened she grew graver and graver, 
her mouth closing tightly. When Edith ceased to speak, 
she said, almost in Beaton’s words — 

This is very serious. If this man turns out to be what 
he represents himself, it will change your fortunes consid- 
erably. ” 

Why will it change my fortunes?” asked Edith. 

“ Tell me,” said Mrs. Winington, not heeding her, 
“ were your uncles older or younger than your father?” 

“ I do not know. ” 

“You see, if this man is your cousin, and the son of 
your father’s elder brother, he is entitled to inherit before 
you, and the bulk of the property will go to him. But it 
is most likely a bold attempt to extract money. He will 
probably offer to compromise matters, but we will look 
narrowly into his pretensions, so do not worry yourself, 
dear, until you know more.” 


BEATON'S BAKGAIN. 


137 


No, I shall not. I always had enough, you know; and 
there is the cottage. I suppose he can not take that — it was 
niy father's?" 

Mrs. Winington looked at her with an expression half 
wondering, half contemptuous. 

“You are right not to meet trouble half way. T can 
only hope this man will prove an impostor; if not — " She 
stopped abruptly. “ It won't do to think about. Leslie 
has gone down with him to Mr. Dargan, has he; I shall not 
go out till he returns. Come with m§, dear," she added, 
kindly. I do not like to deny myself to some people I 
rather expect will come in to tea. What shall you do?" 

“ I will come with you; I have no objection to meet peo- 
ple," said Edith. “ Why are you so frightened about me? 
surely you disturb yourself too much." 

“ Perhaps so. Well, change your dress, and join me in 
the drawing-room." 

Mrs. Winington left her abruptly, thinking as she went, 
“ Dress indeed! If this horrid man proves his story, who 
is to pay for the lovely trousseau I have chosen? It will 
half ruin poor Edith. What a httle idiot she is! yet I 
rather like her when she does not interfere with me. How 
terribly awkward it will be for Leslie if he is obliged to 
break with her! No doubt the nastiest part of the business 
will be given to me. Men always expect their dirty work to 
be taken off their shoulders by their sisters, their mothers, 
or their wives. " 

Mrs. Winington was not less amiable and agreeable to 
her numerous visitors that afternoon for the unpleasant 
anticipations weighing on her mind. But she' took the 
precaution of appearing in an exceedingly becoming hat, 
as a hmt that she was going out, and that her guests had 
better not stay too long. 

Edith, who since her engagement was announced had 
grown more assured and self-possessed, feeling she had a 
ceidain right to her position in Mrs. Winington's house, 


138 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


talked a little and listened a good deal to one or two heavy 
dowagers, who pronounced her a nice, sensible, lady-like 
girl; and it Avas just like the luck of those Beatons to fall 
in Avith an unobjectionable heiress. 

Mrs. Winington observed her with surprise and some 
compassion. How little she realized the breakers ahead, 
breakers which might swamp her! Her eyes often sought 
the clock. When would these tiresome people go? when 
Would Leslie return?" 

That gentleman, meanwhile, lost no time in hailing a 
hansom, into Avhich he motioned the strange claimant 
. politely to enter first, and as they rolled away SAviftly to 
Cursitor Street, Beaton could not help smiling at the notion 
of his temporaiy companionship Avith the man Avho might 
rob him of the fortune he already counted his oaati. They 
scarcely spoke, though Vivian occasionally exclaimed at the 
crowd, the fine horses, the numbers of people Avaiting to 
cross here and there. 

Arrived at Dargan's ofiice, they found him already clos- 
eted with Mr. Tilly, and were obliged to Avait a feAV min- 
utes in the outer ofiice, wMcn was a sliade or tAvo dingier 
and grubbier than the other. 

When they were shoAm into Mr. Dargan's room, they 
found that gentleman in an evident state of pertm’bation, 
his wig considerably awry, and a couple of pens stuck be- 
hind his ear; he Avas examining some papers Avhich lay on 
the table. Mr. Tilly stood behind him, looking very pale, 
his double glasses held to his eyes with trembling fingers. 

Dargan jumped up and seized Beaton's hand, exclaim- 
ing— 

A most extraordinary event, a most unfortunate busi- 
ness! A — ^this- — Sh — ^is the gentleman in question, I pre- 
sume?" turning his eyes with an expression of dislike and 
dread at the tall, audacious-looking stranger who towered 
above him. 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 139 

“Yes,” said Beaton; “ I thought it as well to come on 
here at once, and get to the bottom of the alfair. ” 

“ And I think it is as well to give you this address,” said 
Vivian, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. “ Mr. J. 
Wolff, Jackson and Wolff, Colonial Brokers, Moorgate Street, 
E. C. There you are. Wolff knows me from a boy, though 
I haven’t seen him foi several years. He knew my father, 
too. I met him by chance after I left you,” nodding to 
Tilly, “ this morning. YouTl find you can’t dispute my 
identity, so make haste and get through all the necessary 
formalities, and,” turning to Beaton, “if you show me a 
proper spirit, you and my cousin Edith will find I am no 
niggard. There are my papers; you just look through 
them, and you’ll see they are all in order. ” 

“ 1 think,” said Mr. Tilly, with some hesitation, and an 
attempt to be imposing, “ it would, be more correct, more 
decent, sir, if you were — a — to — a — absent yourself during 
our examination of these documents. ” 

“ All right. You know where to find me.” 

“ Stay,” exclaimed Beaton. “ Have you put your affairs 
into the hands of a solicitor?” 

“No.” 

“ Take my advice; ask your friend Mr. Wolff to recom- 
mend you one at once. In a matter of this kind the prin- 
cipals had better not meet. ” 

“ It’s such plain sailing, I do not see the need,” began 
Vivian, but he was borne down by a chorus of assurances 
that it was absolutely necessary; and finally, with a care- 
less nod to the rest, he started to find his friend, and a 
legal adviser. 

“ Do you believe this fellow’s story?” asked Beaton, 
throwing himself into a chair. 

“ I’m sure I do not know what to tliink,” said Tilly, 
dejectedly. 

“ And I’m sure I don’t know what to do,” cried Dargan, 
nibbling the top of his pen with a look of vicious irritation. 


140 


BEATON^S BARGAIN’. 


‘‘ I knew William Vivian^, Edith's father, had two brothers; 
the elder, John, who left the property, and another, 
George, ne'er-do-weel, was always wandering about the 
world; he was the captain of a trading vessel, but drank 
hard, and went to the deuce. Why, you haven't heard of 
George Vivian, Mr. Tilly, for — ^how long:" 

“ Over thirty years," returned Tilly; “ and as to his be- 
ing married, I don't believe he ever was. The last I heard 
of him was when some clergyman in Cape Town wrote to 
my poor friend that he was in sore distress, and not fit to 
do anything. William sent him ten pounds. " 

‘‘And what do these papers shoAv:" asked Beaton, his 
pleasant, careless face clouded over with a look of angry 
impatience, sterner and more threatening than it seemed 
capable in its ordinary mode of expression. 

“ There are duly attested copies of liis father's marriage 
certificate, the register of his own birth, and a letter pur- 
porting to be from a banker in Natal, stating that he always 
knew the bearer, David Vivian, to be the son of George 
Vivian and Margaretta Capini, his wife, a distant relation 
of the writer's. The boy, it seems, was left an orphan 
when about sixteen, and owed his means of existence to this 
banker Dreyer. He seems to have been not too steady, by 
what he told Mr. Tilly," continued Dargan, handing each 
paper as he described it to Beaton. “ Three years ago, be- 
fore the death of John Vivian, he went off to the diamond 
fields, and then went wandering away ostrich hunting, and 
the Lord knows what. On liis return he heard by accident, 
from an old acquaintance of his father's, who had been 
over in England, that J ohn Vivian had left a large estate, 
that a young girl had come in for it, and asked if he (this 
David) had any claim; so here he is — an ugly customer, I 
can tell you, especially if the man he mentioned, Wolff, 
knows him. Jackson and Wolff is a first-rate firm." 

“We must look well to the authenticity of these certifi- 
cates. What do you intend to do asked Beaton. 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


141 


Send out an agent to Cape Town/’ began Tilly. 

‘‘Ay! and who is to pay for it?” interrupted Dargan, 
with a sneer. “ If tliis man proves the heir, Edith Vivian 
will not get over a thousand pounds or so. One of John 
Vivian’s last acts was to invest nearly all his loose capital 
in the purchase of building land near Birmingham — a first- 
rate bargain, but with the other estates bought by him, it 
is of course real property, and so passes to the nephew.” 

“ It looks bad for my poor little ward,” said Mr. Tilly, 
with much feeling. “ I think you had better submit the 
case for counsel’s opinion. ” 

“ There’s nothing to give an opinion about,” cried Dar- 
gan, with a vicious snap. “ If this Vivian’s assertions are 
true, why he takes nearly everything. It’s too, too unlucky 
altogether.” 

“ Well, as the young lady’s nearest friend and guardian,” 
said Tilly, “ I shall write to this Mr. Wolff and ask for an 
interview. For the present I will bid you good-day. I am 
a good deal upset — a — I shall see you early to-morrow. ” 

Beaton stood up while he left the room, and then draw- 
ing his seat close to Dargan’s table, looked full at the lat- 
ter, saying in a low tone — 

“Our bargain is at end, I suspect. I am in a devil of a 
mess. ” 

“ I dare say you are; but what’s your disappointment to 
mine? My hard earnings, the poor little profits I counted 
on, torn out of my grasp, and this — this unscrupulous 
digger (for I am afraid his claim is irresistible) routing out 
all the accounts I have kept so — so carefully, picking holes 
with what I did for the best, and mismterpreting my honest 
intentions,’ ’ and in the agony of his anticipations, Dargan 
seized a penknife and began vehemently scratching out a. 
blot on the letter he had been writing when Tilly had broken 
in with his evil tidings. 

“Ay, I suspect he’ll skin you,” said Beaton, cruelly. 


143 BEATON^S BARGAIIT, 

“ Look here, do you think we shall he obliged to admit his 
claim 

“Things look like it/^ 

“ And my wedding is fixed for the day after to-morrow, 
by Jove! I am at my wit^s end. If I break with Miss 
Vivian, and this man turns out an impostor, I shall be sold 
indeed. If I marry her, and he succeeds, I shall be ruined 
and undone. Come what may, the wedding must be put 

“ I donT care a rap what you do,’^ cried Dargan, with a 
ghastly grin. “ Your elegant sister may help the lame dog 
over the stile. I have enough to do with my own affairs. 
It was an evil hour for me when I first saw you. 

“ I wish you good-morning, Mr. Dargan, cried Beaton 
in a fury, and seizing his hat he went rapidly down-stairs. 


CHAPTER X. 

B ROKEN BONDS. 

That night, after they were alone, Beaton and his sister 
held high counsel. She was as usual the more hopeful and 
energetic of the two. Beaton was convinced that the Hot- 
tentot (as he termed him) was the person he assumed to 
be. Mrs. Winington would not believe it till some further 
examination had corroborated his statement. 

“ You must hold on, Leslie, for a few weeks. Suppose 
this Vivian, as he calls himself, turns out an impostor, how 
furious you would be with your own poltroonery!^^ 

“ But what is to be done? the wedding is fixed for Thurs- 
day. I am on the brink of a precipice. 

“ What a stupid fellow you are, Leslie! You doiiT sup- 
pose I want to commit you irrevocably? No, you must put 
off the marriage. 

What possible excuse can I urge?^^ 

“ There is one before your eyes. The settlements now 


BEATOH^’S BAKGAIK. 


143 


just ready for signature are nullified, or would be if this 
man^s claims hold good. Of course if we were certain her 
claim to the property could not be shaken, it would be a 
good opportunity of doing the passionate, and dispensing 
with settlements altogether,^ ^ she laughed. “ As it is, you 
must allow yourself to be persuaded by me for Edith' s sake 
to give up the immediate ceremony; she will never suspect 
anything. Then if hers is the losing side you can back 
out. I am. quite sorry for poor Edith, she will be adrift 
again. 

“ She will not break her heart, that you may rely on. 
Personally, I shall not be sorry to be clear of the whole 
affair. She is a nice little thing, and desperately sensible, 
but I am bared to death. I wish to Heaven you or Wining- 
ton would give me a hundred pounds. I am certain if I 
went to Monte Carlo now I would break the bank, if there's 
any truth in the French proverb, ‘ Lucky in love, unlucky 
at play,' and vice versa . " 

“I think I will broach the subject to her to-night," 
said Mrs. Winington, who had not listened to him. ‘‘ I 
have already stopped all preparations for the wedding. 
What do you say, Leslie; shall I speak to Edith to-night?" 

‘‘ Yes; do by all means. In fact I am dying for sleep, 
and will go and forget my troubles for a few hours. I leave 
myself entirely in your hands, Jean. Whatever conditions 
you make I shall fulfill, except a hasty marriage; and you 
will think of that hundred for Monte Carlo? This game 
is played out. Be sure you see Colonel Winington 's solic- 
itors to-morrow — leave the whole thing in their hands. " 

Beaton gone, his sister, after a moment or two of thought, 
determined not to disturb Edith; it was late, and the, girl 
looked pale and tired when they separated for the night. 
It was a deplorable business altogether. 

Colonel Winington had decided offhand that this self-styled 
Vivian was a rascally impostor, and for his part he would 
see iis littls friend Edith through, even if it cost him some 


144 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


money. He never knew of a harder case. It was deucedly 
shabby on Beaton^’s part to back out, and yet how they were 
to manage without money he couldn't tell. 

Edith had only felt vaguely disturbed. She saw that 
Beaton was greatly preoccupied. Her sympathy, the out- 
come of gratitude and a sense of dependence upon her f.ance 
had made her feel anxious to comfort him in some way. 
Yet an instinctive feeling that any advance on her part 
would be unacceptable held her silent and still. It was a 
nttle remarkable that Beaton made no attempt to speak 
with her alone, no effort to impart his uneasiness, or to 
ascertain if she too were depressed. 

It was rather a relief to Edith when Mrs. Winington sent 
for her next morning, and opened the subject of the wed- 
ding. 

“ Poor Leslie is half crazy, dear," she said, as she drew 
Edith to sit beside her on a sofa in her dressing-room. I 
begged him to let me tell you I have insisted on your mar- 
riage being postponed for a week or two, as much on your 
account as anything else. You see, if this dreadful African 
turns out to be really your cousin, the deed of settlement 
which was prepared would be useless, and your interests 
must be cared for.'-’ 

Thank you," said Edith. “ But I do not understand 
having any interest separate from— from Mr. Beaton's. " 

“ Very nice and sweet of you to say so, but sentiment is 
quite out of place in matters of business. Another thing, 
dear; if it turns out that this cousin can rob you of your 
fortune, poor Leslie must get some appointment before he 
can have a home to offer you." Mrs. Winington watched 
her narrowly as she spoke. 

‘‘ Why not?" asked Edith, quietly. I am very young 
and ignorant; I should, perhaps, make a better wife later 
on. " 

‘‘ She is utterly indifferent to him," thought Mrs. Win- 
ington, “ and it will be harder to enlighten indifference 


BEATOK^S BARGAI^T. 


145 


than love/^ But she said aloud, It is a comfort to speak 
to so sensible a girl. Now there is no use in being miser- 
able, put on your cream surah and lace dress, and Colonel 
Winington shall drive you down to the Crystal Palace. You 
are quite a favorite with him, and he hasn't a thing to do, 
while I have no end of bothers; really, I don't know why I 
trouble so much about other people," concluded Mrs. Win- 
ington, with the air of a martyr, and a sigh of relief at the 
prospect of being free from Edith's presence for a whole 
day. 

A very unpleasant interval succeeded this sudden re- 
versal of all their plans. Beaton absented himself a good 
deal, and when he joined his sister and Edith, was so 
moody and preoccupied that the latter was half-frightened 
at the complete change in her hitherto observant and debo- 
nair lover. 

During this period Mr. Vivian called more than once, 
but was stoutly refused; the bland butler reported to Mrs. 
Winington that he used quite 'orrid language, and threat- 
ened to lift me out of the road next time if I didn't let him 
in. It's very trying to have that kind of thing shouted out 
in the very ears of the policeman passing by. " In the 
butler's opinion the gentleman was a dangerous lunatic. 

Finally, Messrs. Touchette and Prigg, the learned and re- 
spectable solicitors of Colonel Winington, advised their 
client and his brother-in-law that Mr. David Vivian's claim 
was not to be disputed, and that the sooner matters were 
settled in a friendly spirit the better for Miss Vivian's in- 
terests. 

I must make an end of it," said Beaton, who was 
walking up and down his sister's morning-room, addressing 
that lady, who was writing letters. ‘‘ I'll go to her directly 
she comes in, and just tell her our engagement must be at 
an end. It's all a mockery hanging on in this way. 
Where is Edith gone?" he concluded. 


14:6 


BEATON^S BAKGAIN. 


“ To meet that very objectionable cousin of hers at Mr. 
Tilly ^s chambers, and have everything explained to her. I 
wonder how much she will imderstand of it?^^ 

‘‘ More than you think. I fancy shea’ll be as sharp as any 
of you at five-and-twenty — all she wants is cultivation; she 
will always have the advantage of a slow circulation. 

‘‘ Why, Leslie, you really seem to dislike that very in- 
offensive little girl.-’^ 

‘‘No; but I resent the loss of time and the immense 
amount of trouble she has cost me. 

“ I am sure your time is not of much value. 

“ I have a few lines from Lady Mary this morning. She 
is puzzled at not seeing my marriage in the papers. They 
are at Innspruck, and intend wintering in Florence. I 
wish I had a few pounds to risk at Monte Carlo. 

“ Leslie, you are an idiot. 

Mrs. AVinington went on with her writing, while her 
brother talked at intervals without recei\ing much atten- 
tion. 

Seeing this Beaton seized a book, and settled himself in 
an easy-chair. He had not read long when he was inter- 
rupted by the entrance of Edith, followed to his surprise 
by Vivian, who was got up rather picturesquely. His black 
velvet coat was open and showed no waistcoat, but a good 
deal of very white shirt, a broad leather belt and buckle, 
and a red silk handkerchief tied loosely around his throat, 
gave him the air of a bandit who had made his money and 
retired from business. 

Edith looked very grave, but in no way disturbed. 

“ AVell, dear, I hope you have got through this unpleas- 
ant business satisfactorily,^^ said Mrs. Winington, rising 
with a smile, and determined to make things as pleasant as 
she could. “ Mr. Vivian, I presume 

“ Yes, I^m David Vivian, and, as I said before, now 
that I have asserte4 my rights ITl show you I am no cur- 


BEATON^S BARGAIN". 


147 


miidgeon; 1^11 be a real kinsman to my cousin, though I 
have robbed her of the inheritance you thought she had. 

The robbing has been on my side, I am afraid, said 
Edith, taking the chair Beaton brought for her, while 
David Vivian leaned on the back of a large old-fashioned 
sofa opposite Mrs. Winington. ‘‘ Mr. Dargan has been 
explaining to me that the money I have been spending so 
freely of late is really my cousin \ and ought to be re- 
funded. 

“ I donT want it,^^ said Vivian abruptly and firmly; if 
I did, that snuffy old liar ought to pay me out of the sav- 
ings of your long minority. I havenT done with him yet. 
I have been down in Liverpool to interview Mrs. Miles, and 
got at more than her precious brother knows. You and 
she never spent more than a hundred and fifty a year; you 
couldnH from what she tells me. Now what has Dargan 
done with the difference? He is a sort of chap that would 
pick a penny out of a blind man^s hat.^^ 

“ Your cousin is quite graphic,^^ said Mrs. Winington 
to Edith, with a pleasant laugh. 

“ Dargan is an unprincipled old scoundrel, ^^cried Beaton 
heartily. 

‘ ‘ Yes, my cousin Edith has been plundered and bam- 
boozled. I shall be glad to see her safe under the protec- 
tion of a good honest fellow, and he nodded approvingly 
to Beaton. “ Now I tell you what it is; youVe all been 
bothered and put about by my turning up, and you havenT 
behaved bad. Come to my hotel to-morrow between nine 
and eleven, Mr. Beaton, wefil talk over the new marriage 
settlements, and youfil see I am prepared to do the thing 
handsomely. Get matters put square as fast as you can, 
and then you sha^nT be kept apart any longer; it has been 
a rough time for both of you. 

He smiled a patronizing but good-natured smile. Then 
drawing himself to his full height, he added, “ IVe led a 
queer life, a life that would make.?/ow open your eyes,” to 


148 


BEATON^S BARGALN-. 


Beaton, “ much as you know, but it hasn^t made a heart- 
less blackguard of me. Now 1^11 go; I doiiH want to 
trouble you with more of my company than is needful. I 
am not your sort,^^ turning to Mrs. ^yinington, ‘‘ nor you 
mine. Once my cousin is out of your house, 1^11 never 
enter it again. But I have a right to look after her, and 
ril do it, so good-morning.^^ He shook hands with Edith, 
then grasping Beaton ^s with startling energy, ‘‘ To-mor- 
row, then,"’^ he said, “ before eleven, weTl soon put things 
straight,-’^ and stalked out of the room. 

Mrs. Winington rang the bell, exclaiming, Quite an 
effective exit, I declare;^ ^ then catching an expressive 
glance from her brother, she continued, ‘‘ Now I shall 
leave you; I dare say you have plenty to talk about. 

“ Plenty to talk about repeated Beaton, as soon as the 
door closed upon her. “ No, rather one painful topic that 
I dread and evade. He spoke very gravely, yet with a 
certain coldness in his tone, and paused. 

‘‘Do not fear to speak to me on any topic, returned 
Edith, looking kindly and candidly at him. 

“ Mine is an ungracious task,'’^ resumed Beaton, begin- 
ning again to pace the room, “ but I must not shrink from 
it. I feel it only just toward you to set you free from any 
engagement to myself. I will not drag you down to pov- 
erty for my own selfish gratification. No, Edith, I release 
you, and trust you will have a fairer lot than to share the 
banishment that must be my destiny. 

Edith was greatly amazed, and even affected. She was 
so profoundly convinced of his deep and warm attachment 
to herself, so utterly unsuspecting of the heartless plot con- 
trived to gain possession of her fortune, that she never hesi- 
tated to offer with simple kindness to share his destiny, 
however dark or repulsive. 

“I am not easily frightened,"" she said, with a sweet 
smile and downcast eyes that might well have charmed a 
true lover. “ I should not be wortliy to be your wife if I 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


149 


shrunk from sharing the rough as well as the smootli 
places in your road. I have not been accustomed to luxury 
or finery, and I may yet be as really necessary as you used 
to say I was. 

“Good heavens!” thought Beaton to himself, “ she is 
not going to let me off. I was right; she is sharper than 
Jean imagined. My dear girl,^^ he said aloud, in a more 
natural manner, “ you really don’t know what you are 
talking about. Life is- very costly, even to a miserable 
bachelor, but when it comes to married life, it is a crime, 
it is positively indecent, to marry with insufficient means. 
So long as there was enough, I was far too much in love to 
care on which side the money was. Now all is changed. I 
should cut my throat if I saw you as my wife badly dressed, 
worried about dinner, degraded by household cares! Then 
existence would be insupportable to myself if I had not the 
decencies of civilized life about me, and mere decencies re- 
quire a large income. No, dear Edith, marriage is out of 
the question. Let us conquer all selfish weakness, and 
part.” 

His voice even more than his words enlightened Edith; a 
sudden consciousness that he wanted to get rid of the en- 
gagement dawned upon her with vivid mortifying clearness. 

“ Very well,” she said in a low tone, raising her eyes 
steadily to his; “if I am not necessary to your happiness, 
the engagement had much better come to an end. But 
why did you tell me what was not true? Can a fortnight 
have destroyed what you told me was so deeply rooted in 
your heart?” 

“ My dear Edith,” cried Beaton blithely, beginning to 
see land at last, “ you should make allowance for my feel- 
ing that I was by no means essential to you. Come now, 
be candid, and let us part friends. You are not a bit in 
love with me?” 

“ I do not know much about love, Mr. Beaton, but when 
you assured me that you loved me and could not face your 


150 


BEATON^S BATIGATN*. 


life without me, though I was greatly surprised, I believed 
you. I was very grateful; I should have grown to love you 
well. Now it is very unpleasant, but we can part without 
much suffering, so good-bye. I will send you all your 
many presents through Mrs. Winington; the 
slight emphasis, “is, I believe, in the little silver casket on 
the red velvet table in the drawing-room.^^ 

Her simplicity and composure had a curious effect on 
Beaton. He felt as he could fancy a man might do after 
a horse-whipping — cowed and degraded. 

“ Believe me, I shall ever retain the warmest regard, the 
highest esteem,^ ^ began Beaton, holding out his hand. 

Edith looked at him with a smile, a grave quiet smile, 
gave him her hand for a moment, and left him. “ That is 
well ended, he said to himself, with a quick shrug of his 
shoulders, as if throwing off a burden, “ but she knows 
how to strike home. I must get hold of Jean. 

Edith reached her room, took off her out-door apparel, 
folded it up neatly, and put it away as she usually did, but 
her cheeks were flushed and her hands trembled, indeed her 
whole nervous system quivered as from the effect of a great 
blow. 

She had been deliberately rejected, she had been com- 
pletely deceived. At last she understood the object of 
Beaton’s devotion, the desperate need which he expressed 
for her lifelong companionship; he simply wanted her fort- 
une to mend his own. What a weak, credulous creature 
she was to believe him! How he must despise her! how 
she despised herself! 

It is true she was not in love with him, but fully believ- 
ing his representation of his own feelings, she had grown 
accustomed to and pleased with the idea of a future spent 
in his kindly and congenial companionship. The notion 
of a settled home soothed and satisfied her. Now every- 
thing was wrenched away, she was despised, rejected, 
friendless. Her quiet home in the hands of strangers, her 


BEATOK^S BAKGAHq-. 


151 


good kind Mrs. Miles banished, where could she turn? 
Though as yet she did not connect Mrs. Winington with 
Beaton's falsehood, she longed to quit her house, to escape 
from the sights and sounds associated with her humiliation; 
she remembered that in the innocence of her heart she 
seemed to hold him to the engagement he was trying to 
break, and she could not control the angiy, bitter sobs that 
shook her slight frame. Gradually, however, her quiet 
good sense came to her aid; she had really done nothing to 
be ashamed of, she had only yielded to Beaton after an 
urgent suit; she was more conscious of deserving Maitland's 
suspicion, though that also wronged her. Was she to blush 
because, being herself true, she believed Beaton to be the 
same? No, she would not allow herself to be overwhelmed, 
there was plenty to do and to learn. Her first effort must 
be to escape from Mrs. Winington 's house. So having 
bathed her face and smoothed her hair, and made herself 
fit to be seen, if Mrs. Winington came or sent for her, she 
sat down and wrote shortly and clearly to her guardian, 
Mr. Tilly. 

“ Mr. Beaton and I have agreed to break off our engage- 
ment completely, as I have no doubt you anticipated. I 
therefore wish to leave Mrs. Winington' s house as soon as 
possible. There is no one in the world with whom I can 
stay but Mrs. Miles.^ Do persuade Mr. Dargan to let her 
come to me, and we can stay for the present in the lodg- 
ings we had last spring. Do help me in this, dear Mr. 
Tilly. 

‘‘ Always yours. 

“ Edith Vivian." 

Then she felt calm and equal to meeting Mrs. Wining- 
ton. 

These were dreadful days of trial to Mr. Tilly. He never 
knew when he was safe from the incursions of the reckless 
South African. No longer able to pa'ss on all his responsi- 
bilities to the universal Dargan, nor to escape the searching 


152 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


(jueries of the new heir, who fulminated the most tremen- 
dous accusations against the acting guardian, and almost 
called him rascal to his face. 

The day after Beaton had succeeded in shaking oif the 
shackles of his distasteful engagement, David Vivian de- 
scended on the victimized Mr. Tilly, before he had quite 
swallowed his breakfast. 

This is a pretty business,'’.'’ he ejaculated, throwing a 
letter on the table, and drawing a chair violently opposite 
to Tilly. ‘‘ That hound Beaton has broken with Miss Viv- 
ian. There, read that! I appointed him to be with me 
this morning, to talk over a new settlement, and intended 
to make a handsome addition to my cousin ^s little fortune. 
I understood he agreed to come, and this morning by first 
delivery I got that precious epistle. 

; Tilly with an air of resignation took it up and read the 
contents. It stated in cold, clear terms that as Miss Vivian 
had never cordially responded to the writer ^s feelings, they 
had, after a calm and friendly discussion of their relative 
positions at present, agreed to put an end to their brief en- 
gagement; therefore, as there was no necessity for occupy- 
ing Mr. Vivian ^s valuable time, Beaton begged to bid him 
adieu with all good wishes for his and his charming cousin^s 
future happiness. 

Well, what do you think of that?’^^ 

Ahem! I am not much surprised on the whole, '’j said 
Tilly, slowly. “You see it was entirely a marriage of con- 
venience on his part.^^ 

“ Then why did you consent to it?^^ asked David, 
angrily. 

“ Well, you see it was hard to know what to do with the 
young lady, and Mr. Dargan thought — 

“Never mind what Ae thought! He’d sell her to the 
blackest imp in hell if he could make sixpence by the 
transaction! I suspect, for all he is such a fine gentleman, 
Beaton and your right-hand man understand each other/’ 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


153 


Not that I know of, not that I know of, I assure you, 
Mr. Vivian! He — ” But Mr. Tilly was not destined to 
finish his sentence. Another letter v/as laid before him, 
which in his turn he handed to David. It was Edith’s ex- 
pressive little note. 

Ha! it is a regular split, then,” cried David. “ I sup- 
pose nothing is to be done?” 

“ Well, no, a breach of promise of marriage case is not 
to be thought of. ” 

“ No, by George! I was hesitating whether I should lick 
the scoundrel or not.” He stretched out his right arm, 
and a fierce light came into his restless hazel eyes; then 
taking the letter from Tilly he read it over again, pulling 
his long mustache as he did so. Yes, we must get her 
out of that house at once. I’ll go over to Dargan and tell 
him I am going down to Liverpool this evening. I’ll bring 
back Mrs. Miles with me to-morrow, and settle matters 
about lodgings and that. Shall I go and see Edith? No, 
I’d better not. I’d be kicking some one down-stairs. Give 
us pen, ink, and paper; I’ll write a line and tell her to 
keep up her heart, and another, by Jove, to Beaton, telling 
him he is a good riddance. Suppose that poor young thing 
has given him her heart? What equity can adjust that bal- 
ance? I have been in love a good many times myself, and 
I can tell you it’s no joke. Where is your blotter?” 

He made a hasty, vehement search among Mr. Tilly’s 
belongings, to that neat and orderly gentleman’s distress, 
and set himself to write, assuming the attitude of a spread 
eagle while at his task; but he covered the paper rapidly 
with large scrawling characters, occasionally pausing to 
look with an air of satisfaction at his work. 

‘‘ There,” he said, at length, when he had addressed the 
envelopes, and folding his notes, not too neatly, thrust 
them into the covers, “ that will settle Mr. Beaton, and I 
hope my nice little kinswoman will feel she is not without 
a backer when she reads this. Mind you write too as kind 


154 


BEATON’S BAKGAIN. 


as you can. !N’ow I’m off to Dargan: if lie hasn’t that 
statement of accounts ready it will be the worse for him. 
In w^hatever I may be obliged to undertake against him, I 
can, of course, count on your help, Mr. Tilly, otherwise 
you are -an accomplice; and I believe you are an honest 
well-meaning man. Good-bye to you! I don’t think I 
can see you till the day after to-morrow. ” He clattered 
away noisily, leaving Tilly in a state of collapse. 

After awhile he pulled himself together, and went away 
in much agitation to see Dargan, whom he found in an in- 
describable condition of rage, despair, and terror — his wig 
awry, the tie of his high black neck-cloth twisted around 
under his left ear, his spectacles pushed up above his eye- 
brows. 

‘‘ Oh, Mr. Tilly, it’s you, is it? I little thought you 
would be talked over by that madman, to turn against your 
best friend, for that I have been to you, helping you every 
way I could, even to my own loss (there’s half a year’s in- 
terest due on the little loan I got you last autumn). And 
what right has he got to come here worrying over the sav- 
ings of his cousin’s minority? He’ll turn against you 
next^ mark my words. His friend, Mr. Wolff, was here 
yesterday, and says his mother was as mad as a hatter. 
What will he be after next? He can’t even leave that 
stupid creature of a sister of mine alone. It’s the devil’s 
own bad luck that sent him here to upset everything, and 
give the lie to a better man than himself. Look here, 
now. I’ll have nothing more to say to you and your ward ; 
and how will you get on by yourself, I’d like to know?” 

“You have been of very great service to me, I acknowl- 
edge, Mr. Dargan, but the affairs of the minor are not so 
complicated as to be beyond my power to — to conduct. I 
must say, I think you made a great mistake when you over- 
ruled me in the matter of that advertisement, and — ” 

“ Lord, what a weather-cock you are!” interrupted the 
other, with a contemptuous upward toss of his chin. “ I 


BEATON^S BAKGAIN. 


155 


was the cleverest chap in the three kingdoms when we 
planned it. Was it my fault that this rampaging digger 
has turned up to set the Thames on fire?^^ etc., etc., etc. 

After much recrimination and squabbling, it was agreed 
on between the spider and the fly that everything must 
present a smooth surface to the new actor who had ap- 
peared so inopportunely to interfere with Dargan's little 
game, even if it cost money to repair a few of the well- 
meaning mistakes which unavoidably occurred from over- 
zeal in the minor '’s service. 

♦ ^ :ic :!c :}; ;ic * 

David Vivian ^s energy was of the feverish order, No 
sooner had he forced the tortured Dargan to write a few 
words to his sister, authorizing her to return to Edith, 
than he rushed olf to Euston Square, and just caught a 
train reaching Liverpool early in the evening. 

His errand explained, Mrs. Miles^’s heart leaped for joy. 
The astute reader need scarcely be informed that the suffer- 
ing relative whose claims on her assistance drew her from 
Edith was an apociyphal personage. She eagerly carried 
out his wishes for an early start, and by the afternoon of 
the next day they were again in town, seeking admission to 
the lodgings occupied at the commencement of this true tale 
by Mrs. Miles and her charge. 

To Edith the hours which intervened between her parting 
with Beaton and the moment of leaving Mrs. Winington 
were painful in an irritating sense. The consciousness of 
having been so completely deceived lowered her in her own 
estimation, and though far from perceiving how completely 
Mrs. Winington had been her brother's accomplice, com- 
mon sense suggested that she could not be completely inno- 
cent of his schemes. 

Indeed this interval was as distressing and irritating to 
Mrs. Winington as to her guest. Even Mrs. Winington ^s 
world* hardened self-possession was ruffled by the constant 


156 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


presence of the guileless young creature she had assisted to 
blind. 

Edith^s composure and good temper commanded her re- 
spect. The girl seemed to have suddenly developed a quiet, 
unassuming womanly dignity, a degree of maturity which 
impressed her hostess. The only allusion she made to the 
sudden rupture of her engagement was when she gave Mrs. 
Winington the packet containing Beaton^s gifts, saying — 

“ This is for your brother. You know what it is, I am 
sure. Do not let us say anything more about him. I have 
a note from Mr. Tilly, he promises to take me away to- 
morrow or next day at furthest, so I need hamper your 
movements no longer. You have been very, very good to 
me, whether you really like me or not, and I am heartily 
grateful!^" 

‘‘My dear, cried Mrs. Winington, with tears in her 
beautiful eyes (they always came quite readily, unless she 
chose to keep them back), “ no words can express how 
grieved and ashamed I feel. It is all too painfully fresh 
to talk about now. Later I hope to exjilain away some of 
the blame which naturally seems to attach to me. ” So 
saying she kissed her brow, patted her shoulder, and hurried 
away to give orders respecting the packing up and prepar- 
ing for an almost immediate journey to Scotland. 

When, the following day, toward evening, the automatic 
footman ushered “ Mrs. Miles and “ Mr. Vivian into 
the morning-room, where Edith was sitting with a book 
which she could not read, so highly strung were her nerves, 
it seemed as if the peace and hopefulness of her old life 
were restored to her in the solid, not to say stumpy, form 
of her good old friend. How she darted forward to throw 
her arms round her neck, to cover her honest homely face 
with kisses, to utter confused exclamations of pleasure! 
David Vivian stood looking on, both touched and surprised. 
He did not think his little cousin had so much warmth and 
tenderness. The next moment she was shy and downcast 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


157 


again, as she turned to thank him softly, earnestly, for 
bringing her trusted friend back so soon. 

‘‘ All right! I knew it was the best service I could do 
you. Now, are you ready to start? We have a place to 
take you to. I suppose you can come at once?" 

‘‘ Yes, I can; but I am ashamed to say I have too much 
luggage for a cab." 

“ We'll call another then. Now go, get on your bonnet, 
and say good-bye if it's necessary. I don't want to see Ma- 
dame Doubleface again." 

“ Mrs. Winington is out. I hardly like to leave without 
seeing her." 

Nonsense," growled Vivian, in his harshest tone. 

Picking oakum is about what she and her brother deserve. 

I shall not leave you in this house, nor stay any longer in 
it myself. Hurry up, my little kinswoman. " 

Edith was somewhat afraid of David — his great height, 
his deep voice, his rugged manner made her shrink into 
herself. Moreover, she knew that any one looking at the 
bare facts of the case would not think her charming hostess 
deserving of much consideration, though she could not rid 
herself of a strong liking for her. She compromsied mat- 
ters, however, by writing a few lines of adieu which she left 
in the hands of her maid, and hastily donned her out-door 
attire. 

As soon as Edith had left the room Vivian applied him- 
self vigorously to the bell, which immediately evoked the 
splendid apj^arition of Thomas. 

“ I say, get down Miss Vivian's boxes, and call another 
cab; look alive, will you, and there's for your trouble." 

The tip was handsome enough to temper the supercilious 
expression of the functionary, who responded with a gra- 
cious Thank'ee, sir," and retired to execute the tip- 
per's " commands. 

It was with a new sense of safety and exhilaration that 
Edith found herself sitting down to a late tea. To be sit- 


158 


BEATOK^S BAKGAIK. 


ting \[)pposite Mrs. Miles in the old familiar fashion, as if 
the last couple of months had been an unsubstantial dream, 
was something so amazing and delightful that she could 
hardly persuade herself that her ardent desire was really 
fulfilled. She was tempted every now and then to catch 
her arm, or seize her hand, to assure herself that it was 
really her good friend in the flesh. 

By degrees she mastered her excitement, and they fell 
into their old confidential tone. Edith, before she slept, had 
told the whole story of her engagement, and its mortifying 
conclusion. Over this recital she shed no tears, and the 
mental exercise seemed to clear her own impressions, and. 
reveal to her the systematic deception practiced on her in 
its fullness. The strongest feeling left in her mind was a 
conviction that there was something in herself not lovable, 
as the man she liked had avoided her because she showed 
her liking, and the man who seemed to like her forsook her 
with unflattering readiness directly she proved deficient in 
those solid attractions which real and personal estate 
possesses. 

She was glad to take shelter in the humble haven of Mrs. 
Mileses motherly companionship, and thought it would be 
long before she could bear the thought of a lover, if indeed 
she could ever believe in any man^s professions. Mrs. 
Miles, who was much moved, wept a little and blew her nose 
a good deal. 

Ah, dear Miley,^^ said Edith at the end of her story. 
“ If you had not deserted me, I might have escaped a go^ 
deal. I should not have made so great a fool of myself. 

Ah, dear, but I couldnT help it,^^ cried Mrs. Miles, 
eagerly. I wonT submit to seem a cold-hearted, selfish 
creature. I did not desert you of my own free will, that 
you may be sure. I never said a word against my brother 
before, but I am vexed with him, and you are wiser and 
older and wonT betray me. I have had to obey him. He 
has been hard on me. You know I was left a widow with 


BEATOIS-^S BARGAm. 


159 


one boy, a dear son, kind and gentle, but weak and easily 
led, and the good God only knows what I went through to 
give him food and clothes and a little schooling. At last I 
was struck down with illness, and then I was obliged to beg 
my brother for bread. He wasn't bad, for he gave me' a 
trifle, and set me to look after you. My dear child, it 
healed my heart to have you to love. Well, my brother 
took Jimmie — you remember Jimmie.’ — into his ofldce, and 
promised to do for him, but he was just an unpaid errand- 
boy. One unlucky day my poor boy, who had fallen in with 
bad companions, was tempted to try his luck at some game, 
and won and won, and then lost all. Joshua had, for a 
wonder, left some gold and notes just inside his drawer 
where he wrote, and my poor misguided boy took some of 
it, thinking he would win back everything. Then his uncle 
came in, missed the money, followed Jimmie, and caught 
him at play. Oh! it was an awful time! Well, he got 
back his money, for Jim was winning again; but he insisted 
on sending him ever so far away, to Hull, to a builder there 
— a very hard place; but Jim hadn't suffered .to no purpose, 
he persevered, he was getting on nicely, he being trusted 
to pay the men, and I began to hope he might have a holi- 
day and come and see me, when my brother writes to me 
that he has let the cottage, and that I must leave you, and 
keep away in spite of what you might say or do. I would 
not agree, and then he threatened to write off to Jim's em- 
ployers and warn them not to trust him with cash, as he 
was a detected thief. What was I to do?" 

Here Mrs. Miles rocked herself to and fro, covering her 
face with her handkerchief. 

Edith knelt down by her, and soothed her with tender 
caresses, exclaiming with indignant fervor against Dargan's 
unfeeling harshness. 

‘‘But why did he want to separate us?" asked Edith 
with a puzzled look. 

“ Your cousin swears that Joshua sold you to Mrs. Win- 


IGO 


BEATON^S BARGAIN". 


ington and her brother, but was sold himself, because he, 
Mr. Vivian, turned up. He is a kind, generous man, that 
Mr. Vivian. I can tell you it is a different matter traveling 
with him and with my brother. It was he insisted on my 
taking this drawing-room floor., because the rooms were 
fltter for you. He is kind and thoughtful. 

Yes, he is, he is indeed; but I am afraid of him; I 
don^t know why, but I am certainly afraid of him.'’^ 

‘‘ Nonsense, my dear; he will be a good, kind friend, 
and he will not stand any of Joshua^s tricks. God forgive 
him, he has been no brother to me; many a sore heart I 
owe him. 

“ Well, thank Heaven we are together again, said Edith, 
drawing a chair, and laying her head on Mrs. Mileses 
shoulder. ‘‘ I want no more finery, or grand people, only 
to be at rest and safe. 

Then the tears stole from under her downcast lids, and 
•she had the relief of a -copious though quiet flood of tears. 


CHAPTER XL 

AN" INTERREGNUM. 

David Vivian found ample occupation between his 
young cousin, of whom he constituted himself protector 
and champion, and Dargan, whose life he made a burden 
by his persistent searching into accounts and demanding 
vouchers. Under his influence Mr. Tilly began to assert 
himself somewhat, and occasionally paid his ward a visit. 
He was extremely gratified by her interest in some old 
prints he had picked up on his way to see her one day. She 
listened with evident pleasure to his explanations, and 
showed such quick perception that the old antiquarian 
offered to read her a few chapters of his unpublished work 
on monumental brasses. 

He was very careful not to mention either Mrs. Wining- 


BEATON^S BARGAIH. 


161 


ton^s or Beaton names, and once, when Edith, in the in- 
nocence of her heart, asked him how long he had known 
Mrs. Winington, he answered testily, 

“ Too long; and I don^t want to hear any more about 
her. She has wasted such a quantity of your money on a 
lot of useless clothes; she can have no principle. 

This conversation took place at tea one warm afternoon, 
and Edith was glad enough to let it drop. Soon after Mr. 
Tilly bid his ward good-bye and departed. 

‘‘It is a lovely evening, said Vivian, who had walked 
to and fro once or twice in silence, “ one can hardly breathe 
in-doors. Get your hat, Edith, and your sketch-book; weTl 
have a hansom and drive up to Hampstead. There will be 
some air to be had on the heath. I^d like to see you draw 
a tree or a house on the spot. It seems a wonderful thing 
to be able to do it. " 

“ Very well,^^ said Edith, readily enough. She was 
always glad to shake off thought and memory by motion, 
and missed, more than she would have liked to say, her fre- 
quent drives with Mrs. Winington. 

They were soon e7i route. Vivian, who was usually either 
profoundly, silent or extremely talkative, lit his pipe with- 
out asking leave, and smoked without speaking till they 
reached “ Jack Straw^s Oastle,^^ where they alighted. He 
then knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and exclaimed with 
a sniff — 

“ Ah, the air is fresher up here; it may bring some color 
to your cheeks, little cousin. I don^t like to see you so 
white. 

“ It^s my nature, David. 

“ If you could get the breeze on one of the big wide plains 
of South Africa, or from a mountain-side, you would know 
how delicious air could be. Cities, and the crowds of men 
who build them, take the freshness and fragrance out of 
the atmosphere. Ah I I think you would like colonial life 
well enough. And he talked on, not badly, describing his 


102 


BEATON^S BAKGAIN. 


hnnter^s life, Ms adventures amongr the Boers, whom he 
greatly disliked, the character and career of a favorite horse, 
etc. Edith listened with interest and sympathy, asking a 
leading question here and there, and so, in good humor 
with each other, they reached a spot where Edith thought 
she might attempt a sketch. 

In a hollow, widening as it sloped downward, displaying 
a country undulating far into the blue distance, stood a 
clump of beech-trees, and a thatched hut, possibly a shelter 
for some goats at night. 

‘‘ I think I might manage that,^^ said Edith, and looking 
round, found a suitable seat on the grassy edge of a small 
sandy hole. David relit his pipe, and lounging by her 
side watched her pencil with lazy pleasure. 

Edith was not easily satisfied with her work and rubbed 
out a good deal; at last she succeeded in making a very fair 
representation of the scene before her, which ehcited strong 
expressions of approbation from her cousin. 

She began slowly to close and strap her book and pencil- 
case. Vivian rose, stretched himself, and sat down again. 
“ I say,” he exclaimed, as if making up his mind to some 
difficult utterance, ‘‘ wasn^t it rather nasty of old Tilly 
mentioning those clothes, hey?” 

“ He did not mean anything unpleasant,^ ^ returned 
Edith, coloring faintly. 

‘‘ Perhaps not; but I say, Edith, if you^d rather not 
have them wasted, or youM like just to stamp out all 
memory of that unlucky business, I am quite at your 
service. Suppose you marry me? — then you know you ^d 
get the property back again. 

He looked at her earnestly as he spoke, but without the 
least of a lover-like expression. 

Edith almost dropped her book. “ What can have put 
such an idea into your head?^^ she exclaimed in profound 
amazement. 

‘‘ Well, you see, it^s the best sort of way to show Beaton 


BE atom's BAKGAIJ^-. 163 

you don^t care a rap about him, and it might make matters 
more comfortable for you; so — 

You are kindly disposed to sacrifice yourself for my 
comfort. Thank you, David. And she laughed merrily, 
but not unkindly. “ Why, you donH care the least for 
me.^^ 

‘‘ Yes, I do. I am very fond of you. I donT mean to 
say I am in love. I have been in love two or three times, 
and it was a desperate business each time. Now you see 
I^d like you to live with me always, but you are neither my 
sister, nor my niece, nor my daughter, so I must marry 
you if you donT mind. You really might do worse; I^m 
not so very much older than you, nor a bad-looking chap 
either, they tell me. You might keep me in order; we 
would have plenty of money, and grow fond of each other. 
Now just think it over. 

‘‘You are very kind, said Edith, still laughing. “I 
never thought any one would be so accommodating. But 
I must beg you to give up the idea of turning our friendly 
relations into anything closer. It will be a long time be- 
fore I can bear the idea of marriage, after the narrow escape 
I have had. Seriously, let us never talk of this project 
again. I am sure you will agree with me, when you recon- 
sider your kind wish to prevent my trousseau being use- 
less. " 

She began to walk back to the road as she spoke. David 
kept silence for a few minutes, and then exclaimed abrupt- 
ly, “ All right. I suppose you know what you want, and 
I dare say you are a great deal too good for me, so we will 
say no more about it. ITl be your friend, only, if you 
change your mind, let me know. 

“ Oh, yes,^^ said Edith, smiling; “ I will propose for you 
in due form. 

David laughed. “ I^m your man if you will,^^ he said. 

“ IVe not been as steady as I ought, and I\e a notion that 
a wife and a home woidd settle me.^^ • 


104 


BEATOlf^S BARGAIN. 


No more was said on the subject. Edith was a good 
deal startled and amazed, but her cousin seemed to forget 
the conversation so completely, he was so cheerfully unem- 
barrassed, that she was soon at ease with him again, and 
attributed his astounding proposition to his habit of speak- 
ing out every whim and fancy that presented itself to his 
mind as he usually did when in a talkative mood. 

He was rather irregular in his ways sometimes. He 
would come every afternoon and accompany Edith or Mrs. 
Miles in their shopping and their walks, or watch his cousin 
drawing and working, and read his newspaper, and write 
his letters in the little sitting-room, as if he was thoroughly 
at home. Then a week would elapse, and they saw noth- 
ing of him. When he reappeared he generally looked ill 
and haggard, with sunken eyes, and weary, listless aspect. 
He made light of his apparent indisposition, however, when 
Edith inquired kindly if he had been ill. “ IVe always 
been bothered with bad headaches, he said carelessly. 

Sometimes they let me alone for a bit, then they come 
back harder than ever. I have had one or two bad bouts 
lately and as I am not fit to be spoken to, I keep out of 
the way when they come on. 

Time had rolled on, and the days were growing crisp and 
short. Edith, though thankful to be at peace, and safe 
with her good old friend, was conscious of a slight monot- 
ony. She was ashamed to acknowledge how much she 
missed Mrs. Wining ton^s bright, amusing companionshij), 
her light, lively talk. She did not care for excitement, 
but something of variety she did need.’ 

In spite of her regretful conviction that Maitland was a 
conceited coxcomb, she found herself often looking back 
to certain conversations with him which had given her in- 
finite pleasure. 

His strong dark face and grave sweet smile came before 
her mental vision far more frequently than they need. 


BEATOK^S BARGAlIf. 


165 


though she always chased away the intrusive image, and 
hoped she might not encounter either again. 

On the whole she was pleased and cheered when one 
evening, on returning from a drive with Mrs. Miles and 
Vivian, he suddenly exclaimed, “ It^s dull and dreary here 
now; why should you stay any longer? Edith looks like a 
ghost. She wants a sea-breeze; that^s what would brace 
her up. What do you say? Where will you go? — there 
are lots of places. J ust give me your commands. I "11 look 
out quarters for yon. "" 

“ It would be very, very delightful "" said Edith with a 
sort of soft enthusiasm that was very charming in her. “ I 
never saw the sea. Shall we go, Miley dear?"" 

Oh, by all means. It"s a good thought, Mr. Vivian; 
this dear child wants a change soreljz.-"" 

“ Where shall it be? I was down at Brighton the other 
day, and it"s just a bit of London on the sea. Here"s an 
old railway book; let"s look at the advertisements — Scarbor- 
ough, Llandudno, Ilfracombe. They are all too far; I 
want to run up and down, for I have lots to do in London 
still and I want to look after you ^t the same time. I 
think I am of some use. "" 

“ I am sure I don"t know what we should do without 
you,"" ejaculated Mrs. Miles, heartily; then with some 
timidity, she ventured to suggest, What do you say to 
Southsea? It"s bright and lively with ships and soldiers, 
and the steamers to the Isle of Wight. I used to be there 
in my poor husband"s time; he was aiTengineer on board 
one of the troop-ships. "" 

I think it might do very well; it is within two hours 
of town. Fll run down to-morrow and see what it"s like."" 

“ A great friend of mine,"" resunied Mrs. Miles, used 
to keep a very superior boarding establishment toward 
Eastney way— a beautiful house with a conservatory, in 
its own grounds too. Poor thing, she had a great fight at 
first; her husband was paralyzed. It"s years since I heard 


166 


Beaton’s bargain. 


of her. I’ll give you her address, Mr. Vivian; you might 
inquire about her; if she is still alive she’ll remember me. 
Her terms are high, but there’s every comfort. ” 

“ Oh, we needn’t put on the screw,” returned David, 
who, though ready to exact the last farthing from Dargan, 
was lavish in his own expenditure, and in providing any 
luxury or amusement for the kinswoman he had taken 
under his somewhat tyrannical protection. “Will you give 
me a glass of milk and soda water,” he continued, “ and 
write the address for me. Put a Line of introduction in an 
envelope, that is your best plan. I shall start early to- 
morrow. Tell your landlady here you will leave within the 
week; I’ll settle you somewhere.” 

“Well, you are abstemious,” cried Mrs. Miles, admir- 
ingly, as she bustled about to get him the beverage he had 
asked for. “ You are almost a teetotaler?” 

“Not quite,” returned Vivian; “but this is the best 
drink of all. ” 

“ Is Southsea a pretty place?” asked Edith eagerly. 

“ Well, it has a beautiful sea, and view of the island op- 
posite. It is flat enough, but the air is delightful, and it’s 
so lively.” 

“ Well, I’ll report to you the day after to-morrow; so 
good-night to you. I will be off early to-morrow; and we 
will make all arrangements when I come back.” 

“ How very kind he is!” cried Edith when he had left. 
“ I wish—” 

“ What, my dem- — what do you wish?” 

“ I wish I were not so afraid of him sometimes. When 
he walks up and down and seems looking at something far 
away that displeases him, I do not quite like to be in the 
room with him. ” 

“Ah! that’s only when his poor head has been bad. I’m 
sure he would do anytliing on earth for you. ” 

Under David Vivian’s energetic guidance tilings were 
soon in train for Edith’s change of abode. He had sue- 


BEATON’^'S BARGAIN'. 


167 


ceeded in finding Mrs. Miles's old friend. She was still the 
proud proprietor of a very successful boarding establish- 
ment^ and was highly pleased at the idea of receiving Mrs. 
Miles and her charge. The liberal arrangements of Mr. 
Vivian met her entire approval, and a few days saw Edith 
and her chaperon settled in Mrs. Parker's comfortable 
mansion—Trafalgar House. 

The cab which conveyed them to Waterloo Station had 
not driven away many minutes when the front door bell 
sounded, and a gentleman, a broad-shouldered, dark-eyed 
man, inquired if Miss Vivian or Mrs. Miles was at home. 

“They have just driven away, sir, to the train," said 
the servant. 

“ Do you know where they are going?" 

“ I am sure I do not, sir. Missis does, I think." 

“ Can I see your mistress?" 

“ She is out, sir. She was obliged to go before the ladies 
left" 

“Ha! Did you happen to hear what station they were 
going to?" 

“ The gentleman told cabby ‘ Waterloo.' " 

“ The gentleman? — Mr. Tilly?" 

“Mr. Vivian, sir." 

“ Well, I'll leave my card, at any rate." 

“I'll give it to missus as soon as ever she comes in." 

The card was inscribed “ John Ogilvie Maitland. " 

Time had gone heavily with him since his last brief visit 
to London. He had been more severely hit than he at first 
thought, and the feeling of profound compassion for Edith, 
as the victim of Beaton's unprincipled schemes, helped to 
keep his tenderness for her constantly alive. 

Then as days and weeks rolled by, and no announcement 
of the marriage Mrs. Winington assured him was to take 
place immediately appeared, he grew restlessly curious. 
Something must have happened to alter the condition of 
things, or the wedding, which it was obviously Beaton's 


168 


beatoit’s bargain. 


interest to hurry on, would not have been postponed, lie 
did not like to write for an explanation to Mrs. Winington, 
whom he thoroughly distrusted. He would wait, and per- 
haps the mystery would solve itself in some delightful way 
that might leave a loophole available to himself. But this 
more cheerful view he resisted. He did not consider him- 
self lucky, nor had he any great faith in his own powers of 
pleasing. So he waited and dreamed, though apparently 
completely occupied with the work of harvesting the fruit- 
ful fields of Craigrothie. 

Early in August Mrs. Winington came to illuminate the 
hospitable mansion of Strathairlie with her bright presence. 
The day after her arrival she drove over with her hostess to 
visit her dear Mrs. Maitland, who, it must be confessed, 
did not receive her too warmly. This in no way affected 
Mrs. Winington, who was delightfully sympathetic, and even 
gushing in her memories of the dear old days when she was 
like one of Mrs. Maitland^s own bairns. Jack was out, 
however, gone away too far to be recalled, while the major 
had ridden over to the nearest town to transact some busi- 
ness. There were then no members of the harder sex to 
be fascinated, and Mrs. Winington had the tact to leave no 
message for Jack, but trusted to the old attraction to draw 
him to her side. 

Kor was she mistaken. The day but one after this visit 
being Sunday, a fine glowing August day, Maitland came 
over a little before luncheon, looking, Mrs. Winington fan- 
cied, darker and graver than ever. 

He was welcomed with quiet warmth perceptible to him- 
self only. 

He made no attempt to speak to her alone, or to allude 
to their last meeting, but in the middle of a pause at table 
he asked, “ What has become of Beaton?’^ 

I do not exactly know at this moment,^’ she returned, 
with a meaning smile. ‘‘ He is somewhere in the Tyrol, I 
think. But I have a good deal to tell you by and by. ” 


BEATOK’s BAKaAIJSr. 


169 


The w^eather was so tempting that, after a proper inter- 
val of general conversation, Maitland turned with an ex- 
pressive smile to Mrs. Winington, and asked her if she felt 
equal to walk as far as the bridge. 

It was a well-known spot, and Mrs. Winington, with a 
quick glance into his eyes, immediately assented, and went 
away for her hat and parasol. 

Maitland thought he had seldom seen a fairer woman as 
they left the house together. Her dress of thin 2 )ale brown 
or ecru stuff, with a red sash and ribbons, her wide- 
brimmed straw hat turned up at one side, where a couple 
of creamy roses lay on her rich hair, the softened, ha])py 
expression of her eyes, made up a lovely picture. How 
vividly the familiar scene recalled the adoration he once 
felt for his companion, and she was handsomer than ever. 

‘‘ I suppose you are dying to know what has haj^pened to 
break off Leslie ^s marriage?^^ she said, when they were 
well away from the house. 

I might survive a little longer without the knowledge, 
but I should like to know. ” 

‘‘HasnT Leslie written to you since — since the bubble 
burst 

“ Not a line. " 

“ What an idle fellow he is! He promised he would tell 
you everything, or 1 should have done so. Well, here is 
the story, and she described the sudden appearance of 
David Vivian, the irresistible character of his claim, and 
the consequent breaking off of the engagement with Beaton. 

It was lightly and amusingly told, with a tinge of rose- 
color cast on Beaton's share in the business. Maitland list- 
ened in silence, and when Mrs. Winington raised her eyes 
to gather from his what he thought of her story, he had 
tuj-ned back to whistle for his dog. 

Really," he exclaimed, “ this has been a trying affair. 
Beaton lu'S goiie off to the Continent you say? What has 
become of his loy'm^fiuncee?^’ 


170 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


“ Oh, she went back to her friend Mrs. Miles, and that 
queer old guardian of hers, the antiquarian. But, do you 
know, I don’t think she cared a straw for Leslie; she was 
rather obtuse in some directions. ” 

“ Then she must have imposed on you very successfully, 
for in the last letter you were so good as to send me, you 
spoke of the extremely demonstrative nature of her affec- 
tion — in short, it bored you. ” 

“ Did I?” said Mrs. Winington. “ I siqipose something 
suggested the idea to me at the time; but demonstrative- 
ness does not prove deep affection.” 

‘‘ Certainly not,” returned Maitland carelessly. “ The 
most ardent caresses are no guarantee for fidelity, they are 
no doubt a matter of temperament. ” 

Mrs. Winington colored. 

“ You are more philosophic than you were when we last 
walked here together.” 

“ I should think so,” said Maitland, laughing. “ And if 
your ideas are not greatly changed since those primitive 
days, I must have bored you infinitely.” 

Do you think you did?” asked Mrs. Winington, look- 
ing down at the heather through which they were walking. 

“ I dare not answer. Do you think you are equal to climb 
as far as the three pines? You remember them?” 

“ Remember them? yes,” she replied, in a tone that said 
much more than the words. 

Maitland struck into a sheep track that led up the side 
of the hill, at the foot of which brawled and chafed a river, 
which was sometimes little more than a burn, sometimes a 
wide-spreading torrent; and occasionally assisting his com- 
panion, oftener walking beside her, he conducted her to 
their old trysting-place, where three pine trees grew in a 
sheltered hollow open to the south, but completely fenced 
round at the back and sides. A wide stretch of country 
and all the approaches to this coign of vantage were per- 


BE ATONES BARGAIN. ' 171 

fectly visible, while those who stood or sat in the shadow 
of the rocks could hardly be perceived. 

Maitland talked pleasantly and lightly of the past, of the 
character of the scenery, of many things, but Mrs. Win- 
ington was silent; she had intended that Maitland should, 
during this visit of hers to the old scenes, avow the bitter 
agony of feeling that she was lost to him. Then what a 
delightful task it would be to soothe him, to reconcile him 
~to his life, to satisfy him with her tender friendship! Now 
she felt in some indescribable way that the mastery of the 
situation had passed out of her hands. 

At last they reached the well-known spot. 

Mrs. Winington seated herself on a mossy stone, and 
Maitland leaning against the stem of one of the trees, they 
both looked out over the fair scene before them for a min- 
ute or two, and then their eyes met. No need for words to 
tell either what the other was thinking of. A kindly play- 
ful smile slowly lit up Maitland ^s somewhat rugged face, 
and Mrs. Winington exclaimed, impulsively, “ Jack, here, 
where we last parted, I humbly ask yom* forgiveness for my 
heartless, cruel conduct. I was so young and thoughtless. 
I was scarce responsible. How often since have I longed 
for a nature stronger, truer than my own to lean on, to — 
to love as I knew not how to love then. I am more lonely 
than you think, dear Jack. Let me hear you say that you 
can forgive me, and restore me to something like the posi- 
tion I once held in your esteem. She held out her hand, 
which fie took and held for a moment, her beautiful lips 
quivering, her soft eyes all suffused. 

“ Ah, Jean,^^ returned Maitland, touched for a moment, 
a man might well forgive you much.'’^ Then in his usual 
voice, My dear Mrs. Winington, I by no means deserve 
so ample an amende. I was a headstrong, conceited young 
blockhead, and dared to look too far above me; do not give 
a thought to the past if it brings you pain. I am glad to 


172 


BEATON’S BAKGAIN. 


see you surrounded by everything that can make life bright 
and pleasant.” 

“ Everything!” echoed Mrs. Winington, tuniing her eyes 
full on his. YeS;, heaps of baubles, but nothing that can 
really satisfy the heart. My husband cares more for his 
horse or his dog than for me. I may do what I like, be- 
cause he never needs my society. He — ” 

“Come, come!” interrupted Maitland, smiling. “No 
man ever adored a wife more than he does. I really must 
stand up for Colonel Winington; he may not be a hero of 
romance, but he is a right good fellow, and quite justifies 
the opinion you must have formed of him at one time. ” 

“ I had. no opinion at all,” she mui’mured, “ I married 
him because I was told to marry. ” 

“We none of us realize our early dreams,” said Mait- 
land, divided between his admiration for liis fascinating 
companion and an earnest wish to show her his disapproba- 
tion of her conduct regarding Edith Vivian. “ But your 
lot has fallen ui pleasant places compared to the majority. 
Look at your quondam protegee. Miss Vivian — a mere shut- 
tlecock between such battledoors as her guardian and in- 
tended husband, whose bowels of compassion are mere cat- 
gut. She is bought and sold, petted, blinded, flattered till 
the supreme moment when she is found wanting in her 
chief title to regard and consideration, and then she is at 
once dropped, disavowed, sent back to obscurity, from which 
she was dragged to suit the schemes of those who wished to 
appropriate her money. What would you tliink and feel 
had you been subjected to such treatment?” 

“ My dear Mr. Maitland, you are really quite excited. 
Of course it was all very bad, and I am ashamed of my part 
in the affair; but it was a great chance for Leslie. I did 
not like to lose it, I hoped all would turn out well. As it 
has, why, you could not expect Leslie to marry on nothing? 
It was unpleasant for Edith. I can not imagine being sub- 
ject to such treatment myself, I confess,” looking up with 


BEATON^S BAKGAIK. 173 

a smile intended to be candid and winning; but Maitland’s 
gravity did not relax. 

Yet Miss Vivian is a delicate, tender woman like your- 
self, with less strength, less experience, a simple innocent 
child, the soul of truth and honor. Why — ” 

^‘Why,” interrupted Mrs. Winington, surprised at his 
tone — “ why, Mr. Maitland, you seem to be absolutely in 
love with that very colorless, good httle girl. ” 

“ I am,” he returned, meeting her eyes fully and calm- 
ly. “I was interested in her from the first, but could not 
interfere with Leslie, who trusted me all through. Now I 
reproach myself with acting a cowardly and unmanly part, 
which, if I can repair, I will. ” 

“ Would you marry her?” with a gasp. 

Yes, if I am so fortunate as to win her, which is doubt- 
ful. I can fancy nothing sweeter, nothing to be more 
ardently desired, than to find her true eyes, her gentle, 
thoughtful face by the fireside to welcome one back after the 
troubles of the day. She is the very embodiment of home. ” 
‘^It is a pretty picture,” said Mrs. Winington, coldly, 
stooping to pick up a sprig of heather. But I am feeling 
a slight chill. Shall we return: I see you think I have 
deserted your inamorata. It would be awkward and sense- 
less to keep up with her under the circumstances. Besides, 
if I am any judge of indications, I suspect she will find a 
potent protector in her South African cousin. ” 

Mrs. Winington rose decidedly, and though Maitland was 
most careful of her during their descent, the walk back 
seemed infinitely longer, infinitely more fatiguing, than 
when they were outward bound. 

The day but one after this episode a telegram from 
Colonel Winington obliged his wife to cm'tail her visit very 
apruptly. 

So soon as the haiwest was safe, Maitland escorted his 
mother south to the winter quarters he had selected, and on 


174 BEATON'S BARGAIN. 

liis way back called, as we have seen, fruitlessly at Miss 
Vivian's lodgings. 

“I'll not give up though," he muttered, as he walked 
Slowly down the street. “If — if only the cousin is not a 
formidable rival! — I'd like to see him." 


CHAPTER Xn. 

BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. 

The first sight of the sea is an experience not to be for- 
gotten by any one, especially by one loving nature and 
accustomed to watch her var 3 dng moods. 

It was dark, and a misty rain had begun to fall when 
Edith and her companion reached Trafalgar House; she 
was therefore obliged to wait till morning for her first sight 
of the restless waters. But the indescribable odor of the 
soft salt sea-breeze was very new and delicious to her. She 
felt her spirits rise as if a fresh stream of ideas had been set 
in motion, and the weary languor which had oppressed her 
been swept away. 

The travelers were cordially received. Mrs. Parker, a 
stout matron with rosy cheeks, a widow's cap, and a solid 
figure, professed herself overjoyed to meet Mrs. Miles 
again, and declared Edith to be a sweet young lady, quite 
a credit to her house, etc. , etc. 

Then she ushered them into their apartments. “ And 
Mr. Vivian was most particular, I assure you. Nothing 
but the best would do for him. This is a new wing, Mrs. 
Miles; I built it myself over two years ago. You little 
thought when poor Parker first fell into bad health and re- 
tired, and all my troubles began, that I would be adding a 
new Tving to the house, eh? But though I have got on 
wonderful I couldn't have done that, only a poor old gen- 
tleman who lived three or four years with us, and gave such 
a deal of trouble that no one had patience with him but 


Beaton’s bargain. 


175 


myself, left me a good bit of money in his will. So as 1 
wanted more room, instead of shifting out of this house 3 
added to it, for it’s the flues t situation in the place. So 
you shall have this suite: — a sitting-room,, there, you can 
see the sunset over the Solent out of that bay-window at the 
end; and this one opens into a conservatory, that Alls up 
the corner between this and the Belvedere, where the front 
door is; and here are your bedrooms just behind, open into 
each other. I have put a bit of Are in missee’s; she might 
be a little chill after her journey, and the gentlemen told 
me she wasn’t too strong. And now you’ll have time to 
dress for dinner at half past six; all my ladies and gentle- 
men dress for dinner. I have only a small party now, but 
they are quite elegant people.” 

Having rattled off this long address with immense volu- 
bility, she threw open the bedroom doors, saw to the plac- 
ing and unstrapping of her guests’ boxes, stirred up the 
Are into a blaze, and with a nod and a smile bustled away. 
‘‘ Well, I declare Mrs. Parker is just the same as ever!” 
cried Mrs. Miles, beginning to untie her bonnet-strings; 
“ as busy and active, only a trifle stouter.” 

‘‘It is quite a pretty room,” said Edith, looking back 
into their little salon; “and how much better furnished 
than our London lodgings!” Her residence with Mrs. 
Winington had developed a taste for beautiful surround- 
ings, which had been rather a source of suffering lately. 
“ What is that regular, soft, booming, rushing sound?” 
she continued. 

“ Oh, that is the sea. The beach is right in front of the 
garden. I am sure you will be delighted when you are able 
to look round. Now hadn’t you better get ready?” 

The party assembled at that intermediate season was but 
small. Two or three old gentlemen of the respectable 
vagrant order, accustomed to make a yearly round of 
boarding-houses and hydropathic establishments, cheap 
Sybarites, each with a mild hobby; a childless married 


176 BEATON'S BAKGAIN. 

couple, and a widow whose family were dispersed, or 
couldn't endure her interference; a much-traveled spin- 
ster, with strong social and political convictions; and a 
sweet-looking old lady with silvery hair, soft dark eyes, and 
regular, refined features. She was well-dressed in black 
silk and black lace and had an air of distmction. Yet 
there was something timid and dependent about her that 
touched Edith, who sat beside her at dinner, and showed 
her sundry little attentions which come so naturally to the 
young of a higher order. 

Mrs. Miles sat opposite, next the hostess, who seemed to 
have much to say, for Mrs. Miles looked deeply interested 
in her conversation. Dinner was nearly over before Edith's 
neighbor addressed her, then she said : 

“ You have only just arrived, I believe?" 

‘‘ Scarcely an hour ago. " 

“ I have been here nearly a week, and find the air very 
strengthening and delightful. You will find the outlook 
from this house pretty, though somewhat tame. " 

“I long for dayhght," returned Edith, “for I have 
never seen the sea. I feel quite excited at the thought of 
beholding it. " 

This avowal seemed to interest the quiet old lady, and 
they continued to talk at intervals, till Mrs. Parker gave 
the signal, and the ladies left the room. Edith paused a 
moment till Mrs. Miles joined her. On reaching the hall 
they found the white-haired lady standing at the foot of the 
stairs, holding one corner of her fine Shetland wool shawl 
against her mouth. 

“ I am afraid there is a draught here," said Edith, paus- 
ing. 

“ There is a little. I am waiting for Mrs. Parker who 
is so good as to help me upstairs every day." 

“ She has been called away, I think," said Edith, and 
<then added with shy, respectful politeness, “ Our room is 


Beaton’s bargain. 177 

opposite; ‘will you sit down there until Mrs. Parker comes? 
Pray do.” 

“ You are very good; if I do not trouble you.” 

“ There is a nice fire, pray come in/’ urged Mrs. Miles, 
and the invitation was accepted. 

A little conversation, not too fluent or ready, ensued, 
and thus a new acquaintance was formed in the outset of 
this fresh page of Edith’s life. 

“ Well, Mrs. Maitland, I could not tell what had become 
of you,” exclaimed the mistress of the house, coming in 
some ten minutes later. “ It is very nice for you to be 
comfortable here. I was obliged to run away, for the man 
had come to speak to me about that carpet they have over- 
charged for, and I was anxious to settle the matter. I do 
hope you’ll excuse me. Will you come into the drawing- 
room to-night, ladies? I’m sure Mrs. Miles would enjoy a 
hand at whist; there’s always a couple of tables set.” 

But Edith and Mrs. Miles preferred remaining in their 
own apartment, and spent a cheerful evening arranging 
their belongings. 

The next morning was bright and beaming. Edith was 
up betimes, and soon called Mrs. Miles to share her delight 
at the view from the window of their sitting-room. A light 
breeze made the blue expanse of water dance and sparkle in 
the brilliant sunshine. Some dozen boats of various sizes, 
with white or brown sails, studded the channel between the 
beach and the island, which rose, softly rounded and 
richly wooded, opposite. The tide was high, and a fringe 
of tiny foaming wavelets played alone the shore with a 
pleasant, murmuring sound. 

“ How lovely! how delightful!” cried Edith. “ Oh, let 
us make haste and go out; I long to be down by the sea! 
You will come with me, will you not?” 

To be sure I will; but I must eat my breakfast first.” 

‘‘ Well, do not be long, dear Miley.” 

The complete change— the newness of everything— was 


178 


BEATON BAKGAIN. 


of infinite benefit to Edith. The supreme, healthy pleas- 
ure she derived from the sights and sounds about her gave 
her strength and renewed hope. Yet the lesson she had 
received had taught her the deepest self-distrust. She 
shrunk from making any acquaintance, and was quite 
happy with her good friend Mrs. Miles, and Mrs. Maitland, 
between whom and herself a degree of intimacy sprung up. 
Mrs. Maitland required much care — care beyond what her 
maid could give. She loved reading, but her eyes soon 
grew weary. Edith was heartily glad to read to the gen- 
tle, cultivated woman by the hour, and enjoyed the discus- 
sions which naturally arose on the subjects of their lecture. 
On sunny days the invalid crept to and fro on the path be- 
tween the garden paling and the beach, supported by 
Edith ^s arm, and, thus soothed and cheered, grew wonder- 
fully better. 

Meantime Edith was not without conjectures as to the 
possible relationship which might exist between her new 
friend and the offending Maitland. These had been an- 
swered at an early stage of their acquaintance by some 
reference on the part of Mrs. Maitland to her home at 
Craigrothie; but even then Edith could not bring herself 
to mention that she had ever known her son; she had no 
wish to renew her acquaintance with him or to speak of 
him. But now and then there were tones in his mother^s 
voice, a peculiar grave, almost sad smile, that brought Jack 
Maitland back to her memory with a strange pang amazing 
to herself. 

Of Vivian they heard and saw nothing for fully a week 
after they had settled at Trafalgar House. This was the 
more extraordinary, as he had engaged a bedroom to be 
kept ready for his occupation; and Mrs. Parker as well as 
her guests were quite excited about his coming, as the for- 
mer had proclaimed him a millionaire of unbounded gen- 
erosity, and “ as handsome a fellow as ever vou saw in your 
life.^^ 


BEATOK'S BARGAHq". 


179 


He came, however, one warm, thunderous Saturday, 
when, after growling at the distance most of the forenoon, 
the storm burst in full force just after he arrived. Edith 
had been struck by his gaunt and ghastly looks, the dull, 
sad look of his heavy eyes. 

“Have you been ill, David she asked, with genuine 
anxiety. “ Is that the reason we have not heard from you, 
or seen you?^-’ 

“ Yes. I have had a bad turn this time; an attack of 
my old fever and ague, but I am all right now. And you 
are sorry for your uncouth chap of a cousin? I see you are, 
and that does me a heap of good. You know I have never 
had any one to care for me.^^ 

“ Well, I do, David, and I ought; no one has been so 
good to me as you have. " 

As she spoke, a blinding flash of lightning, accompanied 
by a splitting peal of thunder, made Mrs. Miles cover her 
face with her hands, exclaiming, “ God bless us!^^ 

Edith unconsciously clung to Vivian. He with a sudden 
gesture threw one arm around her, and pressed her closely 
to him, almost painfully close. The darkness slightly 
cleared, and Edith, startled, alarmed, quickly disengaged 
herself. 

“I beg your pardon,^ ^ cried Vivian, confusedly. “I 
forgot; I believe I was nervous. I didnT know what I was 
doing. Did I hurt you, little , cousin? You are such a 
delicate creature I ought never to touch you! It^s a bad 
storm for these latitudes, I fancy. He threw himself on 
the sofa. “ When the row is over get me a cup of tea, like 
a good girl; my head aches still. He pressed his hands 
to his brow. 

As soon as she dared to go out into the passage, when the 
storm rolj^d away inland, Edith hastened to fetch the de- 
sired bfcverage herself, placing it with kindliest care on a 
small table beside the sufferer, and then bathed his brow 
with eau-de-Cologne, all in so simple and sisterly a fashion 


180 


BEATON'S BAKGATN. 


that the most conceited coxcomb that ever believed in his 
own irresistible attractions could not have misconstrued her. 

The storm passed, the clouds cleared away, a glorious 
evening and magnificent sunset tempted the trio to sally 
forth. Vivian, who was lavish of his money, without the 
faintest idea of style or fitness, went off in search of an open 
carriage, and soon returned. He seemed more like him- 
self — quieter, more cheerful, for the rest of the day. He 
was kindly attentive to Mrs. Miles, and took no especial 
notice of Edith. She gradually recovered the uneasiness 
his unusual looks and manner had aroused, and by dinner- 
time all things seemed as usual. 

The company at Trafalgar House were much interested 
in the long-expected millionaire cousin, and were some- 
what scandalized by his appearing in his favorite costume of 
black velvet, to which, as the weather was now colder, he 
had deigned to add a black waistcoat, and, as usual, a tie 
of brilhant color. He was silent and preoccupied during 
the repast, and did little to gratify that appetite for the 
wonderful so common to the ordinary run of humanity. 

David Vivian's visit lasted three or four days. He 
seemed reluctant, yet obliged, to go, and made many prom- 
ises to return soon. 

Edith was ashamed of herself; she felt such a relief at 
his departure. The curious sort of dread he had at first 
inspired, and which his kind friendliness had almost ban- 
ished, revived. His moods had been extremely variable; 
often he seemed to struggle against some impulse, some 
unaccountable ill-temper, of which Edith could not help 
being conscious. Her attentions to Mrs. Maitland roused 
his wrath. Why should she give so much of her time to a 
stranger? 

‘‘ One might think you were paid to fetch and carry for 
that old woman," he growled, just before starting for Lon- 
don, as he strolled along the beach with Edith. I believe 
you would rather read a story-book to her than talk to me. " 


181 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 

“ But, David, Mrs. Maitland -is ill and lonely; I am 
really of some comfort to her. She wants me a great deal 
more than you do.^^ 

‘ ‘ How do you know that? I have more troubles than you 
know of. Look here, I have a great mind to tell you all 
about them when I come back; would you care to hear?^^ 

‘‘Yes; I should care very much indeed, dear cousin, 
she said earnestly. I should be so very glad to be of the 
least use to you. 

“ Thank^ee,^^ said David hoarsely, and he smoked with 
energy for some moments. “ YouVe a kind heart, Edith,, 
and if loneliness is a claim on it I am lonely enough. Well, 
when I come back, you and I will cross over to the island 
and have a nice long day together, then I will tell you my 
troubles. We won^t take Mrs. Miles: she doesn^t like the 
water, and we do not want her. Now, little cousin, good- 
bye. I mustn^t lose my train, for I am due in London — 
worse luck! — at seven; but 1^11 come back soon — soon.^^ 
lie pressed her hand painfully hard, and hurried away, leav- 
ing her by no means happy at the prospect of a long tete-a- 
tete with David. 

All things fell into the ordinary routine when his dis- 
turbing presence was withdrawn, and Edith^s readings and 
conversations with Mrs. Maitland grew more frequent and 
prolonged. She generally spent the evening in her friend '’s 
room, as Mrs. Miles deeply enjoyed the gossip and the 
games of whist in the drawing-room. Being a good-heart- 
ed, easy-tempered creature, she was moved by no mean 
jealousy toward Mrs. Maitland, whose superiority she was 
shrewd enough to perceive and generous enough to ac- 
knowledge. 

Although the least inquisitive of mortals, Mrs. Maitland 
asked her young favorite a few questions respecting her rel- 
ative, which, though very guarded, impressed Edith with 
the idea that she was somehow distrustful of him. 

“I imagine he has known neither mother nor sisters. 


182 


BEATOJS’^S BARGAIN. 


Family life is of enormous importance to every one, but 
especially to men; they need softening so much." 

Edith assented; and as Mrs. Maitland did not seem dis- 
posed to talk any more, she took up the book they had 
been reading and began. It was one of Hawthome^s won- 
derful romances. Time went quickly; Edith was absorbed 
in the story. 

Without it was a wild night; within the room looked 
homelike and cheerful. A bright fire and gay chintz 
hangings, Mrs. Maitland in her easy-chair, Edith in a pretty 
soft gray dress, with lace about the throat and arms, seated 
on a low seat, her book on her knees, the lamp on the table 
beside her, shining down on her graceful head, her earnest, 
thoughtful face — it was a sweet pictm’e, at least it seemed 
so to some one who opened the door softly, so softly that 
for a moment they were not aware a third person was 
added to their number; then the sudden sense of a disturb- 
ing presence made Edith look up — to meet Jack Maitland^ s 
eyes. 

With a bow and smile to her he went quickly across to 
Mrs. Maitland, and, exclaiming, “Well, 'dear mother, 
how goes it?^^ kissed her tenderly. 

Edith put down her book gently, and had almost reached 
the door when Mrs. Maitland cried: 

“ Do not run away, my dear. Let me at least introduce 
my son to you.^^ 

She was obliged to return, and stood with downcast eyes 
and crimson cheeks, unspeakably annoyed. 

“ I have already the pleasure of knowing Miss Vivian, 
said Maitland, with a joyous ring in his tone as he advanced 
to shake hands with her and then stopped; her attitude, 
her whole expression, showed she was not going to give liim 
her hand, or to respond to his greeting, beyond what civihty 
required. 

• “How! — you know Miss Vivian asked his mother, 
greatly surprised. “ Why did you not tell me so before?"^ 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 


183 


“ Because until your last letter you never mentioned the 
name of the young lady who has made your stay here so 
pleasant and profitable. I have to thank you heartily. 
Miss Vivian; but I fear you have forgotten me?" 

“ No," returned Edith, recovering herself, and remem- 
bering that it would not do to let her disappointment in him 
appear. ‘‘ I was a little startled when you came in so un- 
expectedly." 

‘‘ Then you had no idea he was my son?" said Mrs. 
Maitland. 

‘ ‘ I thought it probable when you spoke of Oraigrothie, 
but—" she paused. 

“ No doubt you had many more interesting topics to dis- 
cuss," said Jack Maitland, laughing, 
g He wished to change the subject. He thought that 
Edith's silence respecting himself arose from reluctance to 
revert to the mortifying circumstances connected with their 
acquaintanceship. 

“ Good-evening," returned Edith, with a pretty, slight, 
respectful courtesy to Mrs.. Maitland. ‘‘ I have put a mark 
in the book; you can find, the place easily. Good-evening," 
and with a little hesitation she gave her hand to Maitland. 

“ If you will go," he'said, opening the door for her. “ I 
can see my mother is a different creature, and I am sure 
much of the improvement is due to you. " 

Edith smiled, shook her head, and escaped down-stairs; 
but not to the -drawing-room. She wanted to be alone. In 
their own apartment the fire burned clear and bright, and 
lighted the room sufficiently. Edith sat down on the 
hearthrug and thought, in a hurried, confused way. He 
has come — he is here," was the phrase that repeated itseff 
over and over again in her ears; the man who had thought 
so lightly of her as to say he had better avoid her evident 
liking for him. Mrs. Winington was not honest — not al- 
together honest in her conduct, but she could not invent 
such a story. Was it possible that unaffected, grave, com- 


184 


BEATON BAKGAIN. 


posed man could be guilty of such a piece of boyish cox- 
combry? Guilty or not, she was almost dismayed to feel 
so very, very glad to see him. She was angry with herself; 
it was want of proper pride. 

Then the past came back to her, oh, how vividly! All 
those months since their memorable meeting in the picture- 
gallery. At her first plunge in the brilliant life to which 
Mrs. W'inington had introduced her, the only one whose 
presence gave her a sense of safety, of solid ground, was 
Maitland. She had unconsciously given him her full con- 
fidence; and with innocent trust had generally sought for 
his opinion on all that was said or done, consulting his 
thoughtful but expressive eyes with the candor of a child. 

She could never do this again; Mrs. Winington had ex- 
tinguished all chance of quiet, unembarrassed intercourse. 
But since they last met Edith had learned much; she had 
eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge and profited by 
the repast. She must not allow this consciousness of Mait- 
land^s puerile vanity to disturb either her mind or her man- 
ners; she must be strong to live her own life, to mark out 
her own road. Mr. Maitland could be nothing to her; she 
had much to see and to do apart from him. Indeed, she 
would resist these unprofitable musings now. 

She rose as she came to this conclusion, and looked round 
for her work-basket. She would take it to the drawing- 
room, and if Miss Spicer, the locomotive elderly young- 
lady, was not playing whist, she would ask her advice about 
2fianning a tour on the Continent. Miss Spicer was a past 
mistress of the art of doing things in the best way at the 
cheapest rate. It was contemptible to sit and dream about 
follies! 

The succeeding days, however, showed Edith that in the 
matter of avoiding Maitland, hers was not the only will at 
work. He had evidently made up his mind to see as much 
as possible of her, and his mother seconded him hi her gen- 
tle, kindly way. Mrs. Miles was soon won over completely. 


Beaton’s bargain. 


185 


She quite well remembered Maitland once she saw him 
again, though when out of sight he slipped her memory. 

To Edith, in spite of her resolution to be coldly prudent 
and steadily distrustful, these days were unaccountably 
delightful. The hearty gratitude of Maitland for her kind 
attentions to his mother touched her heart. His sincerity 
could not be doubted; a great longing to give him her 
whole confidence struggled within her against a stern deter- 
mination to show no preference in her manner. 

The weather was tolerably fine, and Maitland often took 
his mother out driving. Edith was always asked to ac- 
company them, and sometimes accepted; but Jack Mait- 
land could not resist the impression that she quietly avoided 
him. Was it that the associations connected with him 
were painful? Could she class him with Beaton? Did she 
think him a poltroon hke his friend? or — had Mrs. Wiii- 
ington made mischief? This was possible. As Jack Mait- 
land pondered these things on his way back from a ramble 
beyond the Eastney Barracks, he caught sight of a certain 
brown hat and pheasant^s breast, which he knew well, and 
soon overtook. 

“ Has Mrs. Miles a lazy fit that you are walking alone. 
Miss Vivian? he asked. 

She looked up quickly, the color rising in her cheek for 
a moment. How well those delicate flitting blushes be- 
came her! 

“ She is busy writing to her son,’^ replied Edith. My 
cousin, Mr. Vivian, has got him a good situation at the 
Cape, and dear Mrs. Miles is so glad.'’ 

I suppose so," throwing away his cigar. ‘‘ I did not 
know she had a son. You expect your cousin down here, 
do you not?" 

“We always expect him; he is a little uncertain." 

A pause. Maitland was puzzled how to bring the con- 
versation round to herself and the change he perceived in 
her manner. 


18(3 


BEATON'S BAEGAIN. 


‘‘My mother is not quite so well to-day. I persuaded 
her to stay in-doors. Will you look in on her when you go 
in? ’You have done her so much good; you suit her ex- 
actly. In short, if you do not think it audacious of me to 
mention such a possibility as your growing old, I should say 
you will, in the course of inexorable time, be just such an 
old lady as my mother now is. " 

“ That is a high compliment," said Edith, with a pleased 
smile. 

“ Still it is difficult to fancy you anything but young — 
ethereally young. How do not turn toward the house. It 
is so fresh and invigorating, though a little wild; the air 
will do you good, and I want you to explain something that 
puzzles me. " 

“ What can it be?" asked Edith. “ I am not likely to 
know more than you." 

Hot wishing to appear ungracious, she acceded to his re- 
quest, and continued to follow the raised path that separat- 
ed the road from the beach. 

“ You must not think me presumptuous; in short, will 
you grant me plenary absolution for anything I am going 
to say?" 

“ Do not say anything disagreeable!" said Edith, look- 
ing up entreatingly. 

“ Do you think I would pain you in any way?" asked 
Maitland, meeting her eyes, the expression in his own thrill- 
ing her with a strange, wild delight that had in it some- 
tliing of pain. “ Well, I will trust to your understanding 
me," he resumed, finding she did not look up again or an- 
swer. “ When I first met you. Miss Vivian, we soon be- 
came friends. I could say anything to you, and feel sure 
of being understood ; and I was under the impression that 
you felt how thoroughly I appreciated the frankness, the 
delightful sincerity of your nature, in short, that you were 
inclined to trust me, that you might perhaps, if you needed 
it^ have asked me to do you a service as naturally as you 


1?E ATONES BARGAIN. 


187 


would an elder brother. Now this is all changed. I can 
not say where the change is, but you have closed your 
petals and hidden your heart. Do not tell me that I have 
no business to question you, that our acquaintance is too 
slight to permit such a demand. I know you would be 
right, but I feel too much to submit without an effort. 
Tell me, has any one spoken against me to you? Why do 
you treat me as if I were more a stranger than the first day 
I met you?'’^ 

Edith was greatly puzzled how to answer. She could 
not repeat Mrs. Winington'’s speech respecting him; she 
could not otherwise account for the change in herself. 

No one has spoken against you, Mr. Maitland,'’^ she 
said, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. “ I did not 
think I was so changed.^-’ 

Then you are changed 

‘ ‘ I am very much changed — in every way. I feel so 
much older, so different. It seems years and years since I 
first met you. I do not intend to be — to be uncivil — 

“ I want a great deal more than civility, said Maitland, 
trying to steal a look into her eyes; “ I want as much as 1 
give, as I have given. 

“ It is growing very stormy, exclaimed Edith abruptly, 
and turning, she began to walk fast. 

Maitland felt checked, but was not a man to be easily 
daunted. 

“ When I rushed off to see my mother,^^ he resumed, 
‘‘ full of the warmest gratitude to you for all your tender 
care of her, and looking forward to the pleasure of renew- • 
ing our former friendship just at the same stage at which 
we had been separated by no fault of mine, I did not ex- 
pect such a disappointment. 

I have read somewhere,'^ said Edith, with a transpar- 
ent attempt at evasion, “ that nothing once broken off can 
ever be renewed again exactly as it was. 

“lam sorry to hear you say so,"" said Maitland gravely, 


188 BEATON’S BARGAIN. 

understanding that she declined any explanation^ and in- 
tended to keep up the same indefinable distance between 
them. “ I hoped earnestly that you would not think me 
less worthy your frank friendliness now than you did three 
or four months ago. I can only accept your decision. ” 

‘‘ You are very good. I do not wish to be rude or un- 
kind/’ faltered Edith, summoning her wounded self-love 
to sustain her under the load of despair which seemed set- 
tling down on her heart as she noticed the effect of her 
words. Oh! ought she to have believed Mrs. Winington? 
Was it possible that he loved her — her insignificant little 
self, and she was repulsing liim? Yet how could she ex- 
plain? 

“ Rude or unkind,” repeated Maitland; ‘‘ that you could 
never be. But I need not pain you by comjDelling you to 
speak more plainly.' So good-bye for the present. You 
will see my mother this evening, if you can?” 

They had reached the gate. He opened it, and raised 
his hat as she passed through. Then settling it hard down, 
he turned and walked rapidly away in the teeth of the ris- 
ing wind. 

“ Mr. Vivian arrived about half an hour ago,' miss,” said 
a servant whom she met in the hall. 

Thankful for the timely notice, Edith slipped away to 
her own room to take off her hat, to tliink over the hopeless 
tangle in which she seemed involved. 

How could she explain things? — and how could she com- 
pletely disbelieve Mrs. Winington or believe Maitland? 
])id not the very spirit of truth seem to speak through the 
lips of Leslie Beaton? yet at the first touch of disaster how 
quickly he deserted her. Still Maitland is faithful and 
true,” said her heart, and she could not turn a deaf ear to 
the assertion. 

As soon as she recovered herself she went into the little 
drawing-room to greet Vivian. He had quite slipped from 
her thoughts since Maitland’s arrival, and now she felt he 


BEATON'S BARGAIN. 189 

was an additional mesh in the net that was closing round 
her. 

Mrs. Miles was sitting by the fire, knitting in hand, and 
a somewhat troubled expression on her countenance. 
David Vivian was striding to and fro, his brow knitted, his 
hands plunged in the side pockets of his coat. 

How do you do, David?" said Edith cheerfully. “ I 
hope you are better?" 

“ No, I am not!" roughly, stopping short in front of her; 
“ and you are not well either. You have been crying your 
eyes out — don't deny it! I see you have. “VYhat's the 
matters little cousin? — can I not help you?" These last 
words m a wonderfully softened tone that touched Edith. 

There Is nothing the matter, David," she returned, 
stretching out both iier hands. “ i have been walking 
against the wind, and it has made my ej^es red and sore." 

Lies! lies!'”' muttered Vivian to himself, yet taking 
her hands in his own and letting her lead him to a seat. 

“ Where does this fellow Maitland come from? how do 
you know him? I saw you walk past with him, and I 
wat(3hed and watched and thought you'd never come back; 
but you did, ’still with him. How did you come to know 
him?" 

“ He is a friend of Mrs. Winington and Mr. Beaton," 
said Edith, dreadfully alarmed and much surprised. 

“ Ha! traitors every one. He is a traitor too. You 
must speak no.more to him, Edith; I forbid you!" 

‘‘ Cousin David, I can not be rude to an unoffending ac- 
quaintance because you bid me!" returned Edith firmly. 

I do not particularly wish to walk or talk with Mr. Mait- 
land, but I will not be forbidden by you to speak to. any 
one!" 

I suppose not! I am of no account in your eyes. I 
had better go; lam not wanted here." 

Oh, my gracious, Mr. Vivian?" cried Mrs. Miles. 

Beally, David, you are too silly," said Edith, with a 


190 


BEATO'CT’S ]}ARGAIN. 


pleasant laugh. “ You must be hungry and out of teni])er 
to make a quarrel out of nothing. Don^t you see how 
foolish it all is? Suppose I were to be angry with you if 
you walked out with — say Mrs. Parker, or even her 
daughter — 

Vivian interrupted her with a boisterous laugh. 

‘‘Just so, that would be a queer turn. Never mind, 
Edith; I wouldnH walk with a living soul if it would vex 
you. ” 

“ Well, do not vex me by being cross,^^ she returned. 

“ All right, all right. I suppose I have been making 
rather an ass of myself. I am a little out of sorts. Don^’t 
let us say anything more about it,^^ as if he were forgiving 
some injury. “ Come, sit down, and tell me what you 
have been about since I was here,^^ and they began to talk 
ill their usual strain. 

It had been a most trying day to Edith. She looked for- 
ward with infinite dread to dinner; she feared that Vivian 
might break out with some insulting speech to Maitland. 
Her cousin^s eccentricities seemed increasing; she could not 
anticipate what he would do next. To her infinite relief, 
however. Jack Maitland was not at table. He had gone to 
dine with a former acquaintance at the artillery barracks, 
and the evening went over quietly. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

“ You are home early, said Mrs. Maitland, when her son 
came to say good-night about half past ten. 

“ And you are late; I hardly expected you to be still 

I have been spending the evening with Mrs. Miles and 
Miss Vivian. She could not come to me because her cousin 
arrived to-day. 

“ Ah! what is he like? What do you think of him?^^ 
asked Maitland eagerly. 

“ I can not quite understand him; and I do not exactly 


BEATON^S BAKGAIIT. 


191 


like him. He was very silent at first this evening; then he 
burst into talk, and talked well enough.-’^ 

‘‘ Do you think he is more than a cousin to Miss Vivian? 
Do you think she will marry him?^^ asked Maitland slowly. 

“It is impossible to say. I think not; I hope not. I 
fancy she is a little afraid of him. Why, what has put that 
idea into your head?^^ 

“ Because — because I should like to marry her m3^self. ” 

“ Yes,^^ returned his mother softly; “ I have seen that 
you love her; I wish she may return your affection. She 
has exactly the nature that would suit you. She would be 
a sweet daughter to me. Do you think she likes you, 
Jack?"^ 

“ I can not tell. I thought last spring that if I had a 
fair field I might have won her, but there was such a rascal- 
ly plot weaving round us at the time that I was bound hand 
and foot. I will tell you all some day. Now I feel con- 
vinced some one has put her against me. She has changed; 
she distrusts me. I tried to draw her into an explanation 
to-day, but she showed a decided objection to enter on the 
subject. Yet I have a sort of instinctive feeling that she 
might have loved me at one time.-’^ Jack passed his hand 
over his brow, but the mother^ s loving eyes caught an ex- 
pression of pain. 

“ You love her very much, dear?^^ she asked tenderly. 

“ With all my soulT^ said Jack emphatically. “ But I 
have lost heart since she rebuffed me this morning. Still, 
I will hold on awhile longer. I will see her and this cous- 
in together and judge for myself. If there ^s no hope I will 
be off home. 

“ I do not for a moment believe that you will find a rival 
in Mr. Vivian. I do not think Edith is even glad when he 
comes. She gives me the impression of being afraid of 
him. ” 

“Afraid? oh, that can hardly be. Well, good-night. 

I fear I am not a lucky fellow, except in having such a dear 


193 


BEATON^S BARGAIN. 


old m other. He stooped, hissed her affectionately, and 
went away to his room. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

LAND AT LAST. 

The day following was comparatively calm. Vivian was 
peaceable, and listened with some interest to Edith^'s proj- 
ects of traveling, and perhaps residing abroad, but evi- 
dently considered that he himself was to be of the party. 

At dinner he encountered Maitland, who happened to sit 
next Edith, and did his best to amuse and occupy her, not 
unsuccessfully, for an inclinajj;ion to doubt the accuracy of 
Mrs. Winington^s report of his speech respecting herself 
was forming in her mind — a condition very favorable to her 
sense of enjoyment, for she was strongly drawn to him. - 

On Vivian he produced a very different effect. That ec- 
centric personage watched Maitland all through dinner \vith 
a scowl of dislike, and when by chance they spoke together 
Vivian made a point of contradicting him on every point in 
the roughest and most abrupt manner. Maitland bore all 
this with unshaken good-temper, occasionally sending a 
keen, inquiring, anxious glance across the table at his 
moody vis-a-vis. 

Dinner over, Mrs. Maitland asked Miss Vivian and her 
friends to tea in her room, and though Vivian accepted he 
did not stay long. With a confused apology about having 
promised some fellows" to play a game of billiards at 
the hotel, he said good-night. 

His parting glance made Edith uneasy. It rested on 
Maitland with so murderous an expression of hate and fury 
that she could not collect her thoughts for a few moments. 
What danger did it threaten? or was her fancy grown mor- 
bid? She felt altogether unnerved, and glad to retire. 


l^EATON S BAKGAIK. 


193 


thougli there had been pleasant moments during the even- 
ing. 

When David Vivian next 2 )resented himself to his cousin, 
he was in a very quiet, melancholy mood. It was after 
luncheon, and he asked her to come out for a walk. The 
afternoon was soft, gray, autumnal, and Edith, glad to he 
able to grant a request of his, at once acceded. 

^^Ve will . go toward Eastney,/^ said Vivian, as they 
passed through the porch. There are not so many people 
that way.^^ 

Very well,"^ returned Edith, meekly. 

So that fellow Maitland lives in the house, resumed 
Vivian; ‘^1 see him writing in his room.” 

Edith^s eyes followed the direction in which he nodded, 
and she saw Maitland writing in the window of his bed- 
room, which opened on the veranda that ran along the 
front of the house, at either side of the hall door, joining 
the conservatory at 'one side, and ending in a screen of glass 
at the other, which sheltered the windows on this side from 
the south-east. 

It is nice for him to be with his mother,” said Edith, 
turning her eyes away. 

Very likely,” grimly. Well, I^m not going to stay in 
the same house. I moved off to the hotel last night; didnT 
they tell you?: — no?” 

You would have been more comfortable here, would 
you not?” 

To this David made no reply, and they walked on almost 
in silence till they reached a bend in the sea-wall which 
cpmmanded the view westward, with the Martello Towers 
in the middle of the channel, and a glimpse of the masts in 
the harbor beyond. 

Let us sit down,” said Vivian, abruptly. ^^Itis not 
too cold for you, eh?” 

Oh, not at all,” returned Edith, who was feeling un- 
comfortable at this long silence. 


194 


BEATON’S BARGAIN'. 


I said I would tell you my troubles when I came next, 
if you cared to listen,” he began. 

Yes, I remember; and I shall be glad to hear them.” 

It isn’t a story to be glad about,” said Vivian. V ell, 
here goes. I suppose now, Edith, you think I am a quiet, 
steady, stay-at-home chap?” 

You always seem happy enough with us, and we are 
quiet I am sure.” 

""Happy!— ah, that I am, if I could always be with you! 
Now I shall tell you what I really am — a desperate drunk- 
ard, nearly a hopeless one!” 

""That is impossible, David!” cried Edith, amazed. 
"" Why, you rarely touch a glass of wine; you take only tea 
or milk, or — ” 

"" Ah, when I am with you. Don’t you see, I dare not 
taste anything strong, or I couldn’t stop. Sometimes I 
keep clear of it for a fortnight or ten days, and begin to 
tliink I am cured; then the dreadful, desperate longing 
for spirits, wine, any thing, comes over me, and I must 
have it, if I tore dovui walls and murdered men to get at 
it!” He stopped, and wiped his brow in great agitation. 
"" When I first came over there was a good deal of excite- 
ment about your affairs. I got better, calmer, stronger; 
but after a bit the old craving came back. I have some- 
thing more to say. Do you remember I once offered to 
marry you? I didn’t care much about it, but I thought it 
might suit you at the time. Now I want you to marry me 
for my sake. DonT shrink away as if you feared me, 
Edith. You must marry me. I can not live without you. 
You can save me. If you are with me always I shall be 
able to resist; and I love you, little cousin! — the sight of 
you is life to me! I have been awfully bad since you came 
away down here. I had some hard bouts before you left 
London, but last week I was mad drunk for three days and 
nights. I gambled, lost a heap of money, went down into 
hell!” He stopped with a shudder. Edith was speechless. 


195 


bakgain. 

Of course,” he resumed, I never came near you until I 
had got pretty right, but I would not deceive you. It is the 
one vice of my nature, and it leads to every other. Now 
you know the worst. Will you be my wife and save me 
from myself? You don^t know what I suffer; the awful 
horrible thoughts and temptations that keep, whispering to 
me and haunting me, they never come near me when you 
are by. And I love you — you don^t know how I love you! 
It drives me mad to see other people come near you, even 
women. I want you all to myseK — away from every creat- 
ure. That Maitland dares to look at you and love you ! I'd 
like to cut his throat! Answer me, Edith. Will you save 
me, and marry me?” 

She was deadly white. She had scarce command of her 
voice from terror, but she forced herself to reply: 

I never dreamed you wished to marry me, David. I 
have learned to think of you as a dear brother. I will do 
everything 1 can for you — hut marry you, that I can not 
do.” 

What is your objection?” 

In truth I have not the courage to — to marry you, 
after your account of your tendencies — your difficulties — ” 

^^Then you are cold-hearted, indifferent.” 

He burst into a mingled torrent of reproaches and en- 
treaties. Edith, though trembling from head to foot, con- 
tinued tenderly, though firmly to refuse. At last, with a 
wild, despairing, inarticulate cry, he started up and rushed 
away toward the open shore where the wall ends, and was 
soon out of sight. 

Edith, though hardly able to stand, hastened in the op- 
posite direction, growing calmer as she w^ent, and at last 
reached the shelter of her own room, where she described 
to the astonished and sympathizing Mrs. Miles the trying 
interview she had just had. 

""What will he do?” was Edith’s cry. "'He seemed 
quite out of his mind. I am afraid of his hurting liimself.” 


19G 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 


Oh, no, I don’t suppose he will,” returned Mrs. Miles, 
soothingly. He is odd and eccentric, but I don’t think 
he is so foolish as to do himself any harm. I will get Mrs. 
Parker to send round to his hotel a little later on, and find 
out if he has come in. She is a bit huffed about his leaving 
her house, but she is not an unreasonable woman.” 

It is all so unfortunate,” said Edith. Where can we 
turn? Mr. Dargan seems to have quarreled ivith you, and 
Mr. Tilly is so undecided, and now we have lost David! I 
shall always be afraid of him, though I would give any- 
thing to be able to help him. Oh, how my head aches and 
throbs!” 

Will you lie down? I will shut the shutters and sit by 
you while you rest. Perhaps you will get a little sleep. ” 

Mrs. Parker’s messenger reported first that Mr. Vivian 
had gone out early and had not yet returned ; and on being 
again sent after dusk, brought word that Mr. Vivian had 
just come in, and was in his own room. 

When Mrs. Parker’s guests sat down to dinner, Maitland 
was much exercised in his mind by the absence of Miss 
Vivian, especially as Mrs. Miles’s honest face showed un- 
easiness and expectancy. She glanced at the door, she for- 
got to answer when spoken to, she scarcely eat. He re- 
membered seeing Edith go with her cousin in the afternoon, 
and he drew the conclusion that they had come to some un- 
derstanding — or misunderstanding. 

Vivian puzzled him, but he was beginning to suspect that 
he was either a drunkard or an opium eater. Such a rela- 
tive was a grave misfortune to a girl so unprotected as 
Edith. He felt strongly impelled to risk everything, and 
ask her to be his wife. 

Mother, perhaps Miss Vivian will see you?” he said in 
a low voice as they rose from table. 

Slie gave a little nod of assent, and went round to join 
Mrs. Miles at the door. 

Maitland saw them go out together, and went to his 


liMlUJJ I, MllUAllJ. I'J/ 

mother^s room to await her report. Her visit seemed to 
him of portentous length, but she came at last. 

^MVell?” he said, drawing her chair forward; ^^well?^^ 
She is better, and only feared the heat and smell of 
dinner might bring back her headache; but. Jack, I think 
she has had a shock of some kind, she is so tremulous and 
shaken. I am sure the cousin has something to do with it, 
for Mrs. Miles said when we had left the room, ^ If the poor 
dear had a father or a brother, or any one to look after her; 
I am no good.^ I began to say something about her cousin 
when she exclaimed, ^ Don^t talk of him; he frightens the 
life out of her. ^ 

^^That is evident, cried Maitland, much disturbed. 

What is best to be done? I am so uncertain of her feel- 
ings toward me, I fear to propose. As a rejected lover I 
should be no use whatever to her; as a friend I might be 
some help.^^ 

Let us see what a few days may bring forth. I should 
be greatly distressed if she rejects you, dear son. It would 
be bad for her as well as you; but I do not think she is 
averse to you. ” 

Maitland shook his head. ^^She never gives me the 
faintest encouragement. We are not even as good friends 
as we were at first. She has changed greatly, but to me 
she is more charming than ever. I wish her life were more 
fortunate. 

You will make it more fortimate yet, dearest son,” said 
Mrs. Maitland, lovingly. ^^We know not what the mor- 
row may bring us.^^ 

The morrow brought a climax little anticipated. 

♦ ♦****♦ 

Editli, wearied out, had slept well and refreshingly. A 
bright morning helped to cheer her, and she began to look 
upon her distress and fright of the day before as exagger- 
ated and unreasonable. Yet she was still reluctant to let 
Mrs. Miles leave her. This cowardly feeling she resisted. 




mmu ^ luuiuin. 


as she knew her old friend wished to post a parcel to her 
son, which she did not like to trust in any hands save her 
own. 

Oh, yes; go, dear Miley,^^ said Edith. I am too fool- 
ish. When you go I will pay Mrs. Maitland a visit. I 
think Mr. Maitland is going to the Isle of Wight to-day, 
and David can not come to her room. Indeed, he was so 
angry I do not think he will see me. He has probably gone 
hack to London. ” 

Yes,’ that is likely enough. Well, if you don^t mind, 
I will go," and a few minutes after Mrs. Miles took her de- 
parture. 

Edith rang and sent upstairs to ask if Mrs. Maitland was 
alone, and would like to be read to. The servant brought 
an immediate acceptance of the offer; so Edith proceeded 
to look for a book which Mrs. Maitland had expressed a 
wish to see. 

She was standing at a book-shelf, with her hack to the 
French window, opening into the conservatory, when the 
sound of a footfall made her turn round. To her dismay 
she saw David Vivian coming through the window, which 
was as usual open. He must have entered by the door 
which led into the veranda. 

He looked very white. His eyes were bright and wild, 
but he seemed composed. 

I frightened you yesterday, I know I did,” said he. 

I have been thinking a great deal since. ” 

^^Will you not sit down, David?” said Edith, feeling 
that a crisis was at hand. 

No; there is no use in sitting down, I can not rest. I 
must end all this. I shall never leave off drinking; I know 
it. I shall go down — down. Now I am determined that 
shall never he. You wouldnTlike to see me degraded, eh, 
little cousin? You wouldnT like me to be mocked and 
jeered at? No, and it would never do for you to stay be- 
hind me. I have thought over all that; I can keep myself 


BEATON^S BARGAIN'. 


199 


in hand still. I was awfully tempted to finish Maitland as 
I went by and saw him.” A terrible, fierce, wild look came 
into his eyes. But I had a duty to accomplish, and I re- 
sisted — I resisted! Edith, life is hard on us both. lam 
chained down by the devil of drink; you are drawn from 
me, from happiness, by that fiend Maitland. I will deliver 
us both. Look here!” He drew from his breast a long 
knife, which he unsheathed, and looked carefully at the 
cruel, glittering blade, while Edith stood petrified with 
terror, yet keeping her wits enough to know that any im- 
prudence, any attempt to call for assistance, would be in- 
stant death. This will end all our troubles. I am a sound 
believer, Edith, in spite of the life I have led; and I know 
when I deliver you and myself from this fleshly husk we 
shall be united and happy — no more temptations or mis- 
understandings, but peace, rest. You mustnT be frightened, 
little darling; it will not hurt you long. I know the spot 
in that white, white neck where I can strike and reach your 
heart in half a second; then I will end my own troubles, 
and we shall live together through eternity. DonT look at 
the door. Ed be sorry to hurt you, but if you try to get 
away I will. I will never let you out of this alive.” He 
spoke with incredible quickness. 

I am not going,” said Edith, with marvelous, des- 
perate self-control. ‘‘ I think your plan is a good one, for 
life is so puzzling.” 

The unfortunate madman^s countenance relaxed. Ah, 
that is right. You are true after all; come.” 

One thing, however, I must do before — before we die. 
I promised Mrs. Parker to water the ferns in the conserva- 
tory. I can not break my word at such a time. ” 

Ah, perhaps; yes, you ought not.” 

There are two watering-pots; will you help me?” 

Yes, yes; we will get through sooner.” 

He thrust the knife back into its sheath, and replaced it 
in his breast pocket. 


200 


BEATON^S EAIIGATN'. 


With agonizing tension of nerve, and in earnest, silent 
prayer to God, Edith went to a tap near the window and 
filled one of the watering-pots which hung there, giving 
him the other. Vivian was soon eagerly at work, while she 
went to the other side and advanced as rapidly as she dared. 
If — if only the door into the veranda was open ! 

You do not get on as fast as I do,^^ cried Vivian. I 
must get more water. 

There is plenty in the tap,” said Edith, feeling as if 
she could hold out no longer. 

Vivian turned sharply and went hack, talking all the 
time. 

Then Edith stole forward, saw the door was open, and 
fled wildly through the veranda — not into the house, not 
to call assistance, but to Jack Maitland^s room. She felt 
sure that the moment Vivian missed her he would rush to 
wreak vengeance on his supposed rival. 

Maitland was writing, as he often did, at a table beside 
the window, which was open. He was resting his head on 
his hands, thinking over his mother^s advice, and balancing 
the pros and cons, when Edith, white as death, her eyes 
wild with terror, flew into the room. 

Maitland started up, his first idea being that she was 
making her escape from danger or pursuit; but before he 
could speak she began in frantic haste to close the window, 
then the shutters, while she kept repeating, Lock the 
door — bolt it! oh do, do lock it!” 

What is the matter, for heaven^s sake?” cried Mait- 
land. My dear Miss Vivian, tell me. You are safe with 
me.” 

^^JSTo — ^no! I want to save you! He will murder you! 
Oh, come back into the corner! Do not hold me; I must 
fasten the door!” Then leaning back against it, exhausted, 
she went on, ^^He is mad — quite mad, David is. He 
wanted to murder me. He was very near murdering you. 
He will come now; he has a long, keen knife.” Here a 


BEATOK^S P,AIl(4Al>r. 


201 


step was heard in the passage. Quite beside herself with 
fear, Edith darted to Maitland and threw her arms around 
him. He is coming — he is coming,” she whispered, as 
she clung to him. 

Dearest,” said Maitland, straining her to his heart, 
^^you will be ill. Let me take you to my mother. If 
your unfortunate cousin is mad, he must be prevented from 
doing mischief to himself or others. You are trembling; 
you can hardly stand;” and he tried to lift her, but she 
evaded him. 

I will not let you go,” she said, faintly. He will 
murder you with that long, cruel knife. I will not let you 
go.” 

Vivian is not coming here,” said Maitland; he would 
have been here before. Let me take you away; I must 
know what is going on.” Still supporting her, he opened 
the door. All was quiet, but a distant buzz of talk came 
from the hall. You must come upstairs. You shall be 
safe with my mother. I will see to it. ” 

Half leading, half carrying her, Maitland took Edith with 
infinite care to his mother. 

She has had an awful fright,” he said; ^^get her some 
wine. I scarcely know what is the matter, but don^t leave 
her. I shall return when I find Mrs. Miles.” 

My dearest child, you are more dead than alive,” cried 
Mrs. Maitland. Put her on the sofa. Jack.” 

Edith could not speak. She tried still to hold Maitland, 
but he, gently kissing her hand, disengaged himself and 
hurried away. 

In the hall he found Mrs. Parker and all the servants 
talking eagerly. Oh, Mr. Maitland!” said the lady of 
the house, we are all so frightened. Tom here — he is 
the boy that cleans the boots — about ten minutes ago he 
saw Mr. Vivian without his hat and a great, long knife in 
his hand, tearing across the lawn as hard as he could, and 
looking quite wild!” 


202 


BEATON’S BARGAIN. 

Indeed!” cried Maitland. "MVhat direction did he 
take?” 

He turned left, and ran straight toward the beach,” 
said the boy. He seemed to come from Miss Vivian’s 
drawing-room. ” 

Good gracious! I hope he hasn’t hurt the dear young 
lady,” cried Mrs. Parker, fussing away in the direction of 
her room. 

Miss Vivian is quite safe with rny mother,” said Mait- 
land, reaching his hat, and sallying forth to see what could 
be done to capture the lunatic. 

* * 

Mrs. Miles’s dismay can be imagined when, on her re- 
turn, she learned the terrible news of poor Vivian’s out- 
break. It was some little time before Edith was able to 
give an account of her hair-breadth escape, or before she 
could speak to Maitland. . She felt certain that in her im- 
mense excitement she had betrayed herself. She longed, 
yet dreaded to see him. 

Do tell me something of my poor cousin,” she said to 
Mrs. Maitland, who was sitting with her in the room to 
which she had removed, as the association with the other 
was too terrible. 

I am afraid, dear, his is a very hopeless case. He was 
founi struggling with a policeman and an artillery soldier, 
who managed to get his knife from him, and they took 
him to the police station, then to the infirmary. We have 
written to a friend of his in London, and Jack sees that 
proper care is taken of him — but — ” looking to the door, 
‘ ^ here is my son. He will tell you more particulars than 
I can.” 

As she spoke Jack Maitland came in, and while he shook 
hands with Edith, who rose to greet him, his mother quietly 
left the room. It was a moment of profound embarrass- 
ment. Edith scarce knew how to speak or what to say. 
He, however, soon relieved her of that difficulty. 


Beaton’s bargain. 


508 


I am sorry to see that you have not quite recovered the 
dreadful shock you have sustained. Your hand is not 
steady yet/^ and he held it a moment in both his own. 

'' I am much better/’ returned Edith, resuming her seat 
on the sofa. But it will be long before I can forget that 
dreadful day; an'd my poor cousin David, my heart aches 
for him. ” 

pool’ fellow, I am heartily sorry for him; but I 
want to speak of something else — something which con- 
cerns the happiness of my life. You nmst know what it is. 
I have longed for weary months to say ^ I love you, Edith,’ 
and even now I dread lest the avowal may part instead of 
uniting us, so uncertain am I of your feelings toward my- 
self. I had almost despaired, when something in yoiir fears 
for me that day— -something in the clasp of your arms, 
which has haunted me ever since, gave me a faint hope. 
My wishes no doubt may have led me to exaggerate a 
natural humane impulse.”' He paused, and Edith, half 
charmed, half frightened, made a little hesitating move- 
ment as if to give him her hand, and then drew back. 

Ah, you distrust me,” cried Maitland. ‘^^Why? What 
is the cloud which has arisen between us? Do be candid 
with me; do not keep me in the torture of suspense.” 

I have been vexed with you,” began Edith, with nat- 
ural sweet frankness, and I am almost ashamed to say 
why. But I will tell you. When you went away to Scot- 
land I was sorry. You always seemed true and earnest — a 
real friend, and I said I was sorry. Then Mrs. Winington 
told me you were pleased to go — because — because you 
thought / was in love with you and showed it too much.” 
The last words came out slowly, while the pale, delicate 
face was dyed with blushes. 

It was an infernal lie,” burst out Jack Maitland, with 
more energy than politeness^ invented by an unscrupu- 
lous woman. Look in my eyes, Edith, and tell me whom 


204 BEATON^S BARGAIN. 

will you believe — Mrs. Winington or me. I am incaj^able 
of making such a speech about any woman. 

She raised her eyes to his; then a soft, shy smile broke 
over her face, and she said very low and steadily: 

I believe you” 

"" Then one difficulty is removed. Now I am so far from 
so presumptuous an opinion as Mrs. Winington attributed 
to me, that I am still waiting in infinite anxiety for your 
decision. Edith, I have loved you almost from the begin- 
ning of our acquaintance; can you give me a little in re- 
turn?” 

He held out his hand, and Edith put hers into it. 

Dearest,” he exclaimed, drawing her close to him, 

put your arms round me as you did the other day and 
say, ^ Jack, I love you!^ ” He raised her hands to his neck 
and clasped her to his heart with passionate force. Whis- 
per it to me, and I will be content.” 

But he had scarce heard the words softly murmured wdien 
a long, fervent kiss stopped further utterance — ^past, pres- 
ent, and future all merged in that intense moment. 

5j« :ic 

So Edith^s troubles in this stage of her existence were 
over. Dargan dared offer no opposition to the marriage — 
Tilly was glad to get rid of responsibility. 

Edith^s husband, as nearest of kin, was appointed guardian 
of the lunatic. He was tenderly cared for, and when his 
attendants deemed it safe Edith visited him and listened to 
his long rambling hunting stories. 

In all places of fashionable resort the beautiful Mrs, 
AVinington is still admired. She once encountered her 
old love, who gave her his unqualified opinion of her 
treachery and falsehood. The interview had an imbitter- 
ing influence on her temper some time after. 

Lady Mary Stanley Brown is a leader of society, and a 
certain pleasant, lively man about town is her constant at- 
tendant, who picks up the crumbs which fall from the rich 


BEATON^'S BAROATN'. 


205 

man’s table; and when the question, ^^Who was at the 
duchess’s ball, or the countess’s garden-party?” is discussed, 
the list of guests almost always includes Lady Mary Stanley 
Brown and Leslie Beaton. 

But away, in the picturesque glen of Craigrothie, is a 
quiet peaceful home, where work and play, simple refine- 
ment, love, and sympathy make a little paradise as yet un- 
touched, and which, even when the flood arises and the 
stream beats violently, as they will one day, shall not be 
shaken, because it is founded upon a rock — the rock of 
warm affection, of profoundest esteem. 


THE END. 


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225 The Giant’s Robe. ByF. Anstey 20 

226 Friendship. By “ Ouida ” 20 

227 Nancy. By Rhbda Broughton. 20 

228 Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 
da” 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

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230 Dorothj- Forster. By Walter 

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author of ” Dora Thorne ”. . .■ 20 

238 Pascarel. By “ Ouida ” 20 

239 Signa. By “ Ouida ” ^ 

240 Called Back.’ B.yHngh Conway 10 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother. By 

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242 The Two Orphans. ByD’Ennery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

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half. By Charles Lever 20 

244 A Great Mistake. By the author 

of ” His Wedded Wife ” 20 


215 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 
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246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 10 

247 The Armourer’s Prentices. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

248 The House on the Marsh. F. 

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249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By author of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 


251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
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252 A Sinless Secret. B}^ “ Rita ”. . 10 
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254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 


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255 The Mystery. By Mrs. Henry 

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Dumas 10 

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261 A Fair Maid. By F. AV. Robinson 20 

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265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

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266 The Water-Babies. A Fa?iry Tale 

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267 Laurel A^’aue; or. The Girls’ 

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268 Lady Gaj^’s Pride; or. The 

IMiser’s Treasure. By Mrs. 
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269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The AA’andering Jew. Part I. 

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271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 

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271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

272 The Little Savage. By Captain 

Marry at 10 

273 Love and Mirage ; or, The AVait- 

ing on an Islaud. By M. 
Betham Edwards 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
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and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 


277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 

Mrs. Henry AVood. A Man of 
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278 For Life and Love. By Alison! 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas, A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. P’orrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 20 

28:1 The Sin of a Lifetime. B.y the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
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286 Deldee ; or, The Iron Hand. By 

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287 At War AVith Herself. B}’ the 

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288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull's Neighbor in Her 

True Light. By a “ Brutal 


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290 Nora’s Love Test. By Marj’ Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s AA’^arfare. By the author 

of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . lO 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

295 A AA'^oman’sAA’^ar. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne 10 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. Bj' IMarga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. Bj’^ 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

-305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 
doline’s Dream. By the au- 
thor of “Dora Thorne” 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne’’ 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feui- 

moi e Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A AV’eek in Killaruey. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

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670 The Rose and the Ring. By W. 

M. Thackeray. Illustrated... 10 

671 Don Gesualdo. By “ Ouida.’’. . 10 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.’’ 

1st half 20 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.’’ 

2d half 20 

673 Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

074 First Person Singular. B}' 

David Christie Murray 20 

675 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thack- 

eray 20 

676 A Child’s History of England. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

677 Griselda. By the author of “ A 

Woman’s Love-Story ’’ 20 

678 Dorothy’s Ventm*e. By I\Iar}' 

Cecil Hay 20 

079 Where Two Ways Meet. By 
Sarah Doudney 10 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 20 

681 A Singer’s Stor}’. Bj' May Laf- 

fan 10 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. By Mrs. J. Harcourt- 
Roe 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

685 England Under Gladstone. 1880 

—1885. By Justin H. McCarthy, 

M.P 20 

086 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 
Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 
Stevenson • . 10 

687 A Country Gentleman. By Mi*s. 

Oliphant 20 

688 A Man of Honor. By John 

Strange Winter. Illustrated 10 
089 The Heir Presumptive. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

. By Thomas Hardy 20 

691 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray . ..20 

692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 

Opeias. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 
Sullivan 20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 20 

694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

695 Hearts: Queen. Knave, and 

Deuce. By David Christie 
Murray 20 

696 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss 

Jane Porter 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 2d half 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Focket Mition. 


NO. PRICK. 

698 A Life’s Atonement, By David 

Christie Murray 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daug-hter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Isthalf... 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half... 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 2d half 20 

701 The Woman in White. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. First half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. Second half 20 

703 A House Divided Against Itself. 

By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

704 Prince Otto. By R. L. Steven- 

son 10 

705 The W’^oman I Loved, and the 

Woman Who Loved Me. By 
Isa Blagden 10 

706 A Crimson Stain. By Annie 

Bradshaw 10 

707 Silas Marner. The Weaver of 

Raveloe. By George Eliot ... 10 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 20 

709 Zenobia ; or, the Fall of Palmyra 

By AVilliam Ware. Isthalf.. 20 

709 Zenobia ; or, the Fall of Palmyra 

By William Ware. 2d half. .. 20 

710 The Greatest Heiress in Eng- 

land. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

711 A Cardinal Sin. By Hugh Con- 

way 20 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. By Grant 

Allen 20 

713 “ Cherry Ripe I” By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

'I'ighe Hopkins 20 

715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 


716 Victor and Vanquished. By 

Mai’y Cecil Hay 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 

riage Verdict. By Alexander 
Dumas 20 

718 Unfairly Won. By Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

By Lord Byron 10 

720 Paul Clifford. By Sir E. Bulwer 

Lvtton, Bart .• 20 

721 Dolores. By Mrs. Fon-ester 20 

722 What’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

Macdonald 2C 


NO. pmcK. 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 

Wemyss Reid 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

725 My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico 10 

726 My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester... 20 

727 Fair Women. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

Eliot.... 10 

729 Mignon, Mrs, Forrester 20 

730 The Autobiography of Benja- 

min Franklin 10 

731 The Bayou Bride. By Mrs. Mary 

E. Bryan 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades, By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

733 Lady Branksmere. By “The 

Duchess’’ 20 

734 Viva. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

735 Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender 20 

736 Roy and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 

Lyall 20 

739 The Caged Lion. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. B}' Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. Isthalf 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 20 


744 Diana Carew; or. For a Wom- 

an’s Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 

gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

746 Cavalry Life; or. Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. 

By J. S. Winter 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

b}^ Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 

748 Hurrisli : A Study. By the 

Hon. Emily Lawless. 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins .. 20 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 10 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 
Armitt 20 


The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Ad- 
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GEORGE MIJNRO, 

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a2) 


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iim iiiAiiUE LlbKAKL-Pocket Mitioii. 

LATEST ISSUES: 


PRICK 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

738 In the Golden Daj’s. 'By Edna 

Lyall 20 

739 The Caged Lion. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

741 The Heiress of HilMrop; or, 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. B}^ Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 20 

743 Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d half 20 

744 Diana Carew ; or, For a Wom- 

an’s Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 

gle for Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of ‘‘ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

746 Cavalry Life; or. Sketches and 

Stories in Barracks and Out. 

By J. S. Winter 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 

by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P.. 10 

748 Hurrish : A Study, Bj' the 

Hon. Emily Lawless 20 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. By 

Mabel Collins 20 

750 An Old Story of ])tly Farming 

Days. By Fritz Reuter. First 

half.....’ 20 

750 An Old Story of IVIy Farming 
Days. By Fritz Reuter. Second 
half 20 

752 Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

By Juliana Horatia Ewing, . 10 

753 King Solomon’s Mines. By H, 

Rider Haggard 20 

754 How to he Happy Though Mar- 

ried. By a Graduate in the 
University of Matrimony 20 

755 Margery Daw. A Novel 20 

756 The Strange Adventuresof Cap- 

tain Dangerous. A Narrative 
in Plain English, Attempted 
by George Augustus Sala — 20 

757 Love’s Martyr, By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 10 

758 ‘‘Good-bye, Sweetheart!” By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

7.59 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Armitt 20 

7C0 Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third 
Century. By William Ware. . 20 


PRICK 

761 Will Weatherhelm. By Wm. 

H. G. Kingston 20 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such. By George Eliot 10 

763 The Midshipman, Marmaduke 

Merry. By Wm. H. G. Kingston 20 

764 The Evil Genius. By W ilkie 

Collins 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well, By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

766 No. XIII; or, the Story of the 

Lost Vestal, By Emma Mar- 
shall 10 

767 Joan, By Rhoda Broughton .. . 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower, By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

770 The Castle of Otranto. By 

Horace Walpole lO 

771 A Mental Struggle. By ” The 

Duchess ”... 20 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 

Trader. By R. M. Ballantyne 20 

773 The Mark of Cain. By Andrew 

Lang 10 

774 The Life and Travels of Mungo 

Park 10 

775 The Three Clerks. By Anthony ' 

Trollope 20 

776 P6re Goriot. By H. De Balzac. 20 

777 The Voyages and Travels of Sir 

John Maundeville, Kt 10 

778 Society’s Verdict, BytheAulhor 

of ‘‘ My Marriage ” 20 

779 Doom ! An Atlantic Episode. 

By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10 

780 Rare Pale Margaret. By author 

of ‘‘ AVhat’s His Offence?” 20 

781 The Secret Dispatch. By James 

Grant 10 

782 The Closed Door. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

782 The Closed Door. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 2d half 20 

783 Chantry House. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber. By 

‘‘ The Duchess ” 10 

787 Court Royal. A Story of Cross 


Currents. By S. Baring-Gould 20 
790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 

. Charlotte M, Yonge. 1st half 20 
790 The Chaplet of Pearls ; or, The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 
Ciiarlotte M, Yonge. 2d half 20 
794 Beaton’s Bargain. By Mrs. Al- 
exander 20 


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